


for when you're lonely, & forget who you are

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anorexia, Blow Jobs, Comfort, Denial of Feelings, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Gay Panic, I Love You, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Jealous!Jack, Jealousy, Last minute arrivals, M/M, Panic, Past Sexual Abuse, Past physical abuse, Pet Store, Pining, Punching walls for self harm, Rants, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slight OOC, Smut, Snacks & Snack Food, Surprise Visits, Sweet, Vague Texts, Well snack trips at least, Wet Dream, Why Did I Write This?, lots of rambling, okay cute, past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack is a gay mess, and he can't let Mark know that. (Spoiler alert: Mark finds out.)When Jack's world is flipped upside down, he has to face more change than he's experienced in his lifetime.**warnings currently for: future chapters and/or mentions**





	1. maybe i should cry for help

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored during physical therapy today..  
> I liked the result

     Jack's eyes shot open at the soft tune that told him he was receiving a call. He didn't know who it was, but he still groaned anyway. Who the _fuck_ was calling him so late? And _why_? 

     Whoever it was, they were damn _relentless_. Jack groggily reached for his phone, holding it in front of his face and waiting for his eyes to adjust. His gaze traveled immediately to the time. It was 4:24 in the _fucking morning_.  
     And then it shifted to the caller, and he was fairly shocked to see the name "Markimoo" above the _accept_ and _end_ call buttons.  
     Recovering from the initial shock, he hurriedly pressed the green button and breathed hesitantly, "Mark? Are ye okay?"  
     He was met with a breathy and quiet, "N-no," from the other man, and then a, "G-gotta go..."  
     Just before Mark hung up, Jack heard a loud crash that honestly could've been damn near _anything_. As bad as Jack wanted to call back, his mind took him to a place where someone was in Mark's house and his ringtone might get him killed.  
     He opted for a text instead.  
    _'Mark, what's going on???'_  
     Jack stared anxiously at the unchanging screen, feeling extremely fidgety and restless. He told himself not to jump to drastic conclusions, yet he couldn't stop the tidal wave of worst case scenarios. _Just reply, Mark, just reply..._  
     A few minutes later, a text appeared on screen.

  
      _Markimoo: 'help.'_

  
     Jack shuddered, his eyes wide. Help? How could Jack _help_? He was _hours_ away, and that was through _flying_. If he needed emergency help, he was contacting the wrong person. Jack wondered if Mark was aware of anything he was doing right now.  
     ' _How?_ ' He replied. ' _Im really far away from you Mark..'_

  
_Markimoo: 'just talk to me please. don't leave me alone and don't let me go please sean. I need you so damn bad.'_

  
     The text made Jack's heart pound a little faster, and he felt selfish for that. He felt selfish for enjoying Mark's desperation and love. But most of all it _scared_ him. Were best friends _supposed_ to feel this way about one another? Did Mark even feel like this? Jack decided to just reply and stop thinking before he ended up panicking.  
      _'Okay.. do you want to call??'_

  
      _Markimoo: 'yeah yeah give me a second.'_

  
     Jack impatiently waited the few moments in between Mark's text and the call. The other party was silent, and Jack was slightly curious as to why.  
     "Can ye hear me?" He asked hesitantly.  
     A soft sniffle answered, and Jack took that as a yes. He could tell now that Mark was crying: quick and heavy breaths, sniffling, and other muffled noises.  
     "Aye, ye don't have ta talk, but I want ye ta listen t'me, 'kay? I... I dunno what happened, but it doesn't matter. I care no matter what, an' I don't need ta know what happened ta care. Mark, yer... yer amazin', an' I really hope ye know that. Ye'll always be my bes' friend, an' I really, _really_ lo-" he froze, voice cracking and dropping to a mumble. "-ve ye."  
     Telling Mark he loved him in this personal of a setting was a _lot_ different than saying it for the camera. He... He didn't mean it like _that...!_ It was just... what if he crossed a boundary or something that he shouldn't? He loved Mark as a _friend_. _Just_ a friend, and that's _it_.  
     At least, he _thought_ so.  
      _God dammit._  
     "What did you say?" Mark asked shakily. Jack could tell already that he was better. But that didn't fix the current situation. _Well, I'm certainly fucked._  
     "I... I..." He couldn't stop from stutterng. _Obviously_ it made him look bad, but he couldn't help it. He was blushing, so it was good there was no video at the moment. "I _love_ ye, Mark. An' _don't make it weird...!"_  
     Mark laughed sadly. The noise was... _empty,_ and almost... forced. "Wait 'til I tell the shippers, Jackaboy." The joke was genuine to the point where Jack forgot about his reaction to the risky words he'd put out between them.  
     And so, the Irishman laughed. "Oh _God_ no. They'd _die_. Septiplier would be revived."  
     "Is that a _bad_ thing?" Mark said it so softly- more so to himself than to Jack, actually- that Jack was _certain_ he misunderstood.  
     "What?"  
     "I'm- nothing, nothing. Hey, what you said. Did... did you mean it?"  
     Jack blinked and nodded before realizing that Mark couldn't see him. What a fucking _idiot_. Embarrassed, he replied, "Yeah. ' _Course_ I meant it. Ye mean... a _lot_ t'me, more than anyone in my life. Ye've always been by my side. It means _so_ much ta me, really, it does. _You_ mean a lot ta me. That's th'whole truth, Mark." His stupid Irish accent made Mark's name sound weird and he cursed his accent.  
      As if reading his mind, Mark said, ashamed, " _God_ , I... I love your accent." He chuckled nervously. "It's adorable."  
     The Irishman blushed, once again glad this wasn't a video chat. "Why, thank ye," he replied smugly. "It s'quite the smash, I know."  
     Mark giggled, and Jack was pretty certain he fell over despite the fact he was already _laying down_. His stomach literally evolved to the "Ethan when he was 13" stage. What the _fuck_ was going on?  
     "I wanted you to know," Mark went on weakly. "I love you, too okay? We're... _quite_ the gays, huh?"  
     Jack couldn't deny how tingly he was all over. "Yeah... quite the gays." He murmured absent-mindedly.  
     They talked like this for an hour or two. The sun was rising, and admittedly, Jack had gotten only a couple hours of sleep and didn't plan on getting more.  
     "Oh shit, it's late for you, isn't it?" Mark breathed guiltily at the end of one of his tangents about a video game. He'd likely noticed Jack's lack of input.  
     The Irishman laughed. "Pas' six in the mornin'." He answered groggily, not managing to stifle his huge yawn.  
     Mark groaned. "I'm so sorry... I just... _God_..."  
     "It s'okay, I had fun," Jack reassured him, rubbing his eyes. "Sleep is fer the weak."  
     "Shut up. You _better_ sleep."  
     He laughed, letting his eyes droop shut. "Okay, _mom_."  
     "Sleep or I'll fly over there and _whoop_ ye Irish ass!" Mark quipped, putting on a terrible Irish accent that would definitely belong in a try not to cringe video. Or maybe next year's YouTube rewind, if you wanted to go _that_ far.  
     "Do it." Jack flashed a crooked grin to no one in particular. "Alrigh', jus' kiddin', I'm sleepin', okay?" He lied, playing with his hair.  
     Mark started stuttering, as if he wanted to suggest something but was afraid to. "Well... Can... can you just... Can we stay in the call? Is that weird...? Oh _God_... I just don't... I don't want you to leave."  
     The brown haired boy smiled to himself, closing his eyes. "Only weird if ye _make_ it weird," he laughed softly. "I don' mind."  
     There was a moment of silence until Mark said in a genuine voice, "Thank you, Jack. For everything."  
     "Anythin' fer my favorite floofer."  
     Maybe it was Mark's presence, maybe he was just actually tired. But he did end up falling asleep, and this was enough to surprise him _without_ the whole sleeping on a call thing.

     Tomorrow might be okay, actually.


	2. we're captains of our own souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes up late, so he takes a chill stroll to grab snacks... might as well use it as a vlog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's finished, beauties! A bit rushed. I'll probably touch it up, but I wanted to get it out before bed. Hope you enjoy <3

     When the Irishman awoke the second time, it wasn’t to the sound of the phone, it was to rain pounding against the earth outside and the roof above his head. He yawned widely, staring at the ceiling for a minute before looking at the phone. It was turned off now. The call must’ve disconnected during the night, though he noticed he had a text from Mark.

     Extending his arm, he snatched it, turning it on to check the time.

     It was past noon.

 _Jesus Christ._ He turned the phone off.

     Jack rubbed his eyes, snuggling further into bed and putting his head in his hands. Eight hours of sleep was way too much. _Way_ too much.

     How was he _ever_ going to get out of bed?

     A few minutes more of staring at the light-soaked ceiling and he was rolling out of bed, bringing the duvet partially off with him. It wasn’t cold outside, but Jack shivered anyway, only wearing a long sleep shirt and his underwear. Shielding his eyes from the light, he trudged through the doorway to his room.

     Lazily, he made his way to the recording room and sat in his computer chair. He tossed his phone onto the desk and turned the desktop on, staring at it blankly.

     There was no inspiration.

     Jack sighed, grabbing his blue book filled with video ideas. He flipped monotonously through the pages, idea after idea popping up that he’d already done. Just a bunch of scrawled out inklings he’d picked up.

     He tossed the book on the floor, groaning and leaning back in the chair. What the hell now? He poised himself upright and shuffled into the kitchen, opening the pantry for a snack to maybe get his brain running.

     And that’s when he saw the most absolutely _treacherous_ sight in the world.

     There were _no snacks._

     He whined, holding his head in one hand and his stomach in the other. This was a tragic day for everyone. Following his moment of silence, he turned to the counter to make some coffee. He just… wouldn’t have anything for breakfast. Coffee would be enough. This was fine, only…

     “ _There’s no coffee either?_ ” He cried aloud, entirely outraged and extremely disappointed all at once. Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, exasperated exhale.

     He knew then what he had to do.

     He’d have to record a vlog. A snack run, if you wanted to get specific.

     Never in his life did he think this day would come. His snack runs were _very_ personal! This was a huge step and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

 _I guess you’ll have to get ready, then,_ he told himself mockingly.

     With this, he was on his way to his room, throwing on a pair of black skinny jeans and that black shirt with the little cacti on it that he liked.

     He did the human basics: brushed his teeth, combed his hair, styled it some. Trimmed his beard here and there. Not shower, though. He was way too lazy for that.

     Then it was to the vlog camera.

     Jack didn’t really use it that often. He knew he _should,_ considering how pricey it was, but his life was… pretty boring, actually. He never had anything to film with it. He lived alone. At least now he was closer to a few people: Felix and Marzia, PJ, Emma. Yeah, he was in a nice range of them, but they were busy, and so was he. It took a lot to catch one another. It wasn’t just a simple, “Hey! Let’s hang out together,” even if Jack wished it was that. So close to so many people, you’d think he wouldn’t be so lonely.

     With a heavy sigh, he turned on the camera, no where near ready to record but knowing it’d have to happen. One last deep breath.

     “Three, two, one,” he counted down, snapping his fingers after ‘one.’

     “Hey! God, this is so fookin’ weird, I never record vlogs… I’m a ‘lil behind schedule ta’day an’ I’m outta snacks an’ coffee. This is a _crisis._ I’m gonna take ye wit’ me on a snack trip.” He kept a consistent, genuine grin. Talking to cameras really did tide over his loneliness, and maybe that was sad, but if he coped that way, he coped that way.

     It was soggy outside- as he narrated for the viewers- and he could literally hear the squelch of the mud under his shoes. It was gross.

     He was giggling the entire time, playing in the mud like a child and making comments about it. The happy, playful, cheery, bouncing baby boy he always was, of course. Nothing less for his viewers. He wasn’t exactly faking it, either; it was nice to get out of the house once in a while, and he was kind of excited-nervous about posting something different.

     Jack was half way through his walk to the grocery store and it was past two. He had stopped a couple times to look at stuff, pet dogs, play with shit, or point out things that were funny or looked wrong. It didn’t usually take this long, but he was taking a lot longer intentionally. Part of him really wanted an excuse to walk.

     Yeah, he did keep going off on tangents about random things. There were some rants he knew he’d have to have Robin edit out. He trusted his editor, even with his rant about Mark…

     The topic had shifted from games to people he’d wanted to collab with (included Mark) and then to _just_ the half-Korean.

     “Speakin’ o’Mark…” He glanced at the ground. “I really miss ‘im. We talked las’ night an’ it really made me realize ‘ow much I wanna see him again. I jus’ wish the next convention was sooner… I don’ ‘ave an’ excuse ta go an’ see ‘im if it’s not fer a convention. I really do want ta. I… I love ‘im. He’s my bes’ friend, really. I wish we got ta see one another more often, but when ye live ‘cross th’ globe from one anot’er, s’kinda hard. T’at… s’just me ramblin’, though. Th’time ta see him’ll come, I’m sure. I guess it jus’… couldn’t come soon enough, honestly.

     “’E really means a lot ta me,” Jack whispered, his free hand in his pocket as he walked slowly down the still-damp sidewalk. “He’s a great person. ‘E… s’gorgeous, too. Muscular an’ really nice ‘air. Jaysis… Oh. Um…”

     He was blushing furiously, gaze on the ground as he turned the corner. “I jus’ mean he’s an attractive guy, nothin’ ta it. Beautiful inside an’ out. Like all…” No, he couldn’t group any of this with his other friends. Mark was different.

     Jack glared at the camera. “Robin, ye better edit t’is out or ye’re fired,” He murmured half threateningly.

     The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. He was at the grocery store, stocking up, when his phone started ringing. By now, it was maybe 3:30, if not, 4:00. He quietly cursed, since he’d thought he’d put it on vibrate. Pulling it out, he blinked at the sight of Mark’s name. “It’s Mark.” He told the camera,

     Guess the video would have a guest. It was good that the mini-grocery-store was pretty well empty. He turned speaker on as he accepted the video chat.

     “Hey, Mark!” He said, bubbly as always. “I’m recordin’ a vlog righ’now, but ye can be in it. ‘Alf of it’s gonna be edited anyway, so… I’m also at th’grocery store.” He giggled, concentrating on the chips in the aisle.

     To the viewers, he said, “I dunno whether I should go wit’ th’nacho cheese Doritos or the-”

     “Nacho cheese!” Mark interrupted, chanting the phrase. Both of them burst out laughing, causing Jack to receive a few glances from the couple passerby.

     It was then that Jack took a good look at his American friend. His hair was disheveled and messy; after all, it was early there, so he’d likely just awoken. His voice was even deeper than normal, and more gravelly, too. Husky, almost. It was adorable. Or a few other words that took him to places that were so sinful that he started to blush.

     “Jack? Earth to coffee bean?”

     “Huh?” Jack snapped out of his staring trance, glancing away. “Righ’, sorry…”

     “Zoned out on me there,” Mark laughed. “You were staring… see something you like?” He put a hand on his hip and did a purposefully exaggerated kissy-face.

     The Irishman blushed, managing only to splutter an embarrassed “Shuddup…”

     Mark raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press it.

     The rest of the vlog was spent with Mark, the two having their normal playful jabs and silly times, of course. Jack’s slip was pretty much forgotten as he ended the vlog.

     “That’s ‘bout all I’ve got fer this vlog. I’d do my normal outro, bu’… I’m in public. Sorry fer everyone who was lookin’ forward ta their eardrums bein’ busted.” He laughed at his own joke, heart swelling when Mark laughed along. It felt almost like the man was there. “Bu’ if ye want t’see more like t’is, let me know in the comments. S’fun ta jus’ be a little carefree now an’ again. Anyways, I hope ye enjoyed this video, an’ if ye liked it, punch t’at like button in the face… _civilly._ We’re no ‘ooligans ‘ere, ladies an’ gentleman.”

     Both men laughed, and Jack finally wrapped up the video, sitting his vlog camera in one of the plastic bags and starting the walk home.

     He’d forgotten he was in the call with Mark, despite the fact he was holding his phone. The entirety of the stroll was in comfortable silence, both (after Jack remembered they were on the phone) parties just enjoying one another’s company.

     It wasn’t until Jack was opening the door to his house was the silence broken by Mark.

     “You know… Your Irish accent is still cute as hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay yeah thats cool but look at [my kitten](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/333738337322008589/389451229538942976/Snapchat-1403312259.jpg?width=296&height=473) isnt she GORGEOUS <3


	3. i know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack doesn't know how to handle this. God, he wish he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry she took so long! I went to my gf's house this weekend, so I didn't have much time to write. I hope it wasn't too disappointing.

     Yeah. Mark had _said_ that. He'd just straight up said it out of nowhere, and it wasn't _jokingly_ either. He said it in a totally honest way, and Jack knew he wasn't tired anymore. There wasn't an excuse for the compliment.  
     The Irishman blushed a deep red, stuttering and flustered, except this time Mark could _see_ him. Mark was watching him looking all embarrassed from the compliment.  
     Why was this so different? All the compliments shot at one another behind the cameras, almost as if they were the second nature of the two. Easy, natural. Sometimes almost _too_ natural, really. It almost _scared_ Jack, how they could just do that, like they'd done it their _whole_ lives. Like they were _meant to._ It got him thinking, took his mind to _all_ the wrong places, places it _wasn't_ supposed to be.  
      He liked girls. One hundred percent. People called him gay all the time, even _before_ YouTube and all the Septiplier shit. It had _never_ been true. Naturally, like _every_ adolescent, he'd previously had his curious age where he tested things out. Everyone does. He could never get into it. Jack _didn't like guys._  
     But, then, why did his heart flutter when Mark smiled at him? Why did his stomach knot at every nice gesture? Why was he taken to sinful, _sinful_ places when Mark spoke with that deep, gravelly voice of his...  
      _Okay, stop there, Jack._  
     His hand ran through his hair. He realized it'd been a while since he'd said anything, and in the background of his thoughts he could hear Mark's voice. He couldn't process what he was saying, mind racing.  
     Now he was inside, sitting on his couch, his phone beside him. Mark had given up speaking, and Jack didn't know _what_ to say.  
     The thing to do would be to confront Mark and tell him how he felt, but really, the Irishman would rather _die_. Literally. He couldn't lose Mark over his stupid... _thing_. It wasn't a crush. He _wouldn't_ call it that. He _didn't like guys. He didn't._  
     At last, Mark hesitantly mumbled, "...Jack? Are you okay? Did I... did I cross a boundary or something? Did I fuck up?"  
     Silence. Jack had no idea what to say.  
     "Oh _God_ , I fucked up, didn't I? I'm so sorry, I'm _so_ sorry..."  
     Jack sighed. "Ye didn't fook up, Mark."  
     "... Yeah?..."  
     "Yeah. 'M jus'... I don't know what..."  
     The American was quiet and attentive. As Jack struggled for words, Mark said nothing. Not in a _bad_ way, more so in an encouraging, I'm-here-to-listen-to-you sort of way. It really did help...  
     "What're we?"  
     There was a tense silence.  
     Mark was hesitant as he said, "Best friends?" Even as he spoke, you could _tell_ that he had something he wanted to say but was too afraid to. Mark wasn't telling him the whole truth...  
     "Mark, please. Honesty... It s'all we've got righ' now." His voice was lower than he honestly had meant it to be, but it seemed effective, since Mark sighed quietly.  
     Jack watched the American pull at the hem of his _just_ tight enough shirt. "I... maybe... maybe there's... I don't know, Jack, God, I just... I've never _felt_ this way before."  
      _Now_ they were getting somewhere.  
     The Irishman hadn't realized he was crying until he wiped his cheeks of tears. "Me neither. S'why I wanted ta jus'... _talk_ abou' it... It's been on m'mind fer awhile an'..."  
     " _Please_ don't cry." Mark whispered, voice cracking as he did. He seemed on the verge of tears himself, but it didn't take much for either party to cry, so it didn't mean much.  
      _Yet to me... it means everything_.  
     Mark went on, "I don't... want you to cry over me. We're going to figure this out. But it's so hard, over the phone. I wish you didn't live _across the damn ocean..._ " The man sniffled, warm chocolate eyes gazing intently at Jack.  
     He sighed. "I know, Mark, I know. This s'hard, but we'll get it toget'er. Maybe I can fly ou'. Y'know, jus' tell the fans we're goin' ta catch up, or help one anot'er with somethin'."  
     "It doesn't have to be a lie," Mark mumbled, exasperated. "I haven't been doing so well, as you know..."  
     "Righ', but ye'd..." Jack trailed off, furrowing his brows. "Have ta tell yer fans. Ye don't ha-"  
The American raised his hand. "I don't _have_ to, but I _want_ to, Jack. I want to for _you_ , for _us_ , whatever that may be. For me, I guess..."  
     "That's somethin'... hard ta talk abou'."  
     "You can come down and support me, Jack. We can talk about every thing. It'll be okay. We can get through this."  
     The Irishman played with his hair, exhaling heavily and exaggeratedly. "I guess so... T'ere 's _so_ much that could go wrong... I can't jus'... it's not really _right_ ta jus'... I- I mean, maybe if I stayed in a hotel... I dunno. I jus' _can't lose ye._ "  
     Mark frowned, looking as if he couldn't assure Jack of anything. "We're gonna be okay, Jack, I promise. _You're_ going to make it through this, even if it's the _last thing_ I do."  
     Jack shuddered at the last sentence. He didn't know _what_ Mark meant. Why wouldn't Mark make it through this? The younger of the two had _so_ many questions about how Mark was feeling and why he felt the way he did. He didn't understand any of it.  
     "Mark, I... I need ye ta help me understand. _Why_?"  
     The American's head tilted. "What do you mean, why...?"  
     "Why do ye _feel_ like this? What did las' nigh' mean? Why'd ye call _me_ , of all people? It jus' feels... so _surreal_ , an' not..."  
     Mark didn't reply as Jack drifted out of his sentence.  
     With a sigh, Jack ran his hand through his hair for what felt like the eight hundredth time. "I... I see. I need ta talk wit' Robin an' get 'im workin' on this vlog. Text me later, I guess."  
     He hung up, disheartened and confused. He instantly missed Mark, even as he called Robin and informed him that he had recorded a vlog today and it was pretty long, then sending him the footage. They talked for a while just to catch up, but it didn't take long for them to decide to hop off, and Jack was left lonely once more.  
     Under Robin's stern, but friendly, orders, he unwillingly recorded another video, something he couldn't bring himself to care about, despite his _desperate_ attempts. He genuinely _couldn't_ recall the last time he was so... unenthusiastic about recording a video. It was weird, too. Mark hadn't said anything _upsetting_. Mark had been a _sweetheart_ , if anything. Why was he on the verge of tears and just... not wanting to do _shit_? This didn't make sense. He didn't know _why_ he felt like this, just as much as he didn't know why Mark felt the way _he_ did.  
     He wanted to at least know his _own_ feelings. Was that so much to ask?  
     Still, knowing he looked _extremely_ unhappy and upset in it, he sent the video to Robin for editing. And afterward, he resorted to bed.  
     This was dangerous. _Extremely_ so, and he knew it. He knew that, feeling like this, he shouldn't put himself into bed, where his head was the castle, his mind the dragon, and his thoughts it's claws.  
     But maybe he deserved that. Maybe he _deserved_ to be _destroyed_ by the monster that was his mind.  
     With this in his thoughts, he allowed his imagination to _torture_ him, the concept that he _absolutely deserved_ every minute of it weakening him to the point where he just _took it._

     He couldn't even let himself sleep. He continued to remind himself that he deserved this pain and that he had asked for it, and now he had it.  
     And yeah, he did hear Mark _repeatedly_ texting and calling him. He saw a couple texts from Robin, asking if he was alright and why he seemed so sad in the video.  
     In the end, Jack just started at the ceiling, hoping for everything he wanted and needed to drop from there and make everything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How gay and angsty


	4. i am tired of punching in the wind (i am tired of letting it all in)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is Jack experiencing the functions of a fucking hormonal 15 year old? He is no sinner, yet here he stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) ;) ;) You get yourselves some 755 words of sin and the sad, sad aftermath. Only cause I love you guys. And so quickly, too!! Be proud owo
> 
> I just watched my cat get stuck under the door.  
> help.

     Jack slammed his back into the wall, pinned to it by strong, tanned hands that he knew belonged to one person, but he didn’t think too hard about it.

     He moaned into Mark’s mouth as it trapped his own, their tongues fighting for dominance. Of course, it didn’t take long for the American to successfully beat him out and start exploring his mouth. All he could do was whimper with pleasure, because _God that felt_ _amazing._

     And then they parted, gasping for air, because their damn lungs needed that for whatever Godforsaken reason. Mark lunged for him again, but instead of attacking his mouth, the man’s lips ghosted over his ear.

     He could feel Mark’s hot breath and it made him admittedly shiver.

     Fingers were shoved into his mouth, and he instinctively sucked, wrapping his tongue around them. Mark started whispering into his ear, voice husky and rough.

     “You’re so hot. Seeing you moan for me and feeling you suck on my fingers like a good boy, it’s _so hot._ Do you want this? Do you want me to fuck you senseless, until you can’t remember your name?”

     Jack groaned around Mark’s fingers, vigorously nodding as well as he could until the fingers were gone. “God, _yes!_ I want ye ta fuck me ‘til ye’re all I can think abou’, _God, jus’ fuck me, Mark!”_ He squirmed under the heat of Mark’s body pressed against him, just that sensation enough to make him a moaning mess. “Let me prove m’yours,” He stopped to whimper again when Mark started sucking on his neck. “M’yours, oh _God_ m’yours! Jus’ fuck me already, oh my- _oh, yes…_ ” He lost his train of thought when the man licked a sensitive spot.

     Another moan wormed from his throat as Mark’s hands slipped under Jack’s shirt, yanking it off in an easy motion and sucking on one of his nipples while he stroked the other.

     Jack’s hands were in Mark’s hair, yanking at the raven locks. “Fuck! Jus’ _fuck me already!_ I’m your slut- _ah!_ _”_

     “Only because you’re so fucking desperate, my little slut.” Mark purred.

     And Mark surprisingly obliged, as opposed to teasing the smaller of the two any longer. He unbuttoned Jack’s jeans with haste, ripping the zipper down and pulling them off with some assistance from the other party. Jack, in only his boxers now, wrapped his legs around Mark’s waist and let him carry this over to the bed, listening to the sinful words and quiet moans Mark gave him on the way there.

     Mark somewhat delicately threw the Irishman onto the bed, and Jack was breathless at this point, looking up at Mark with hooded eyes. He scanned the tan body, and decided he wanted to see more of it. With a sly remark about how Mark had too much clothing on, he pulled Mark onto the mattress, sweeping his top off in one graceful motion, discarding it somewhere in the room.

     He flipped them, now on top of Mark. The man let out a breathy moan, only egging Jack on more. With a grin, he straddled Mark’s hard-on, making the American grunt and whimper.

     This made Jack shiver, but he kept his dominance, painstakingly slow as he unbuttoned Mark’s impossibly tight jeans. He slid the zipper down unhurriedly, intentionally palming his dick through the fabric, the impatient noises from Mark music to his ears. Now he understood why Mark loved to tease the living hell out of him.

     As he reached the waistband of the jeans, he lowered his head to place tiny kisses up his stomach, chest, jawline, and then finally connecting with his lips.

     The kiss was hungry and desperate, Mark being needy and Jack being smug with this power and control he’d discovered. The tables had certainly turned, and Jack _loved_ it.

     They parted, connected by a string of saliva. Jack stared down at Mark with an intense feeling of want, his eyes bright.

     “Y’know, Mark,” he drawled, rising back up and straddling him again. “I think I wan’ ye ta beg.”

     “B-beg…?” He let out a quick breath that could've been taken as a moan.

     “Yea.”

     Mark whined, and Jack clicked his tongue, sitting back so his ass was grinding against Mark’s cock, and he himself moaned. The noises Mark made were _unholy,_ moans and pants and desperate whispers combining into one, until Jack couldn’t take it.

     His fingers slid under the waistband of Mark’s jeans, removing them with heedlessness and urgency, so that both men were in their boxers…

 

* * *

 

 

     Jack woke up with a start, flustered and panting, hardly able to breathe, but also with an aching boner.

_Whatever the fuck woke me up is about to get it._

     He went to the bathroom and quickly took care of his… problem, and then sitting in his bed- which felt, to say the least, _different-_ to contemplate what had just happened.

     Well, he didn’t need to contemplate anything. He knew what happened crystal clear, and it was all he could think about even in the waking world.

     Blood rushed to a certain appendage of his and he forced himself to stop thinking in general.

     He hid his face in his hands, holding them there before snaking them up to his hair and furrowing his brows.

     Jack had had a wet dream about Mark.

     What was he, fucking 15? No joke, that was the last time he’d had a wet dream. At least this one didn’t go all the way to like, penetration and shit…

     Jack shivered, getting goose bumps from the thought. He didn’t know how to take that reaction from his traitorous body. He just told himself to not take his mind there.

     But of course he had to take his mind there! He and Mark had been friends for years. Plus, he was straight. Totally, _entirely_ straight, and that was a fact. He knew that was a fact. It’d _always been a fact._

     His gaze turned to his phone, which, upon further inspection, was what woke him up. Why did he keep forgetting to put the damn thing on vibrate?  
Apparently Mark had blown his phone up with vague texts and spam called him, even getting Ethan and company to do so.

     Why the fuck did he love this man, honestly.

     He scrolled through the endless stream of- once again- extremely ambiguous texts. He stopped at the bottom as his mind caught up to his finger.

     The last text he’d sent is the one that caught his eye.

  
      _Markimoo: ‘Fuck this. Fuck it all. I’m buying a ticket and getting up there’_

 

     This was at 2:45a.m., and it was currently 5:12a.m.. It didn’t take much research (the most recent flight he could’ve possibly gotten was one that departed at 8:00p.m. his time) and math to figure out that he’d arrive in Ireland at around 2:00p.m..

     He was panicking.

     It was half the hour and he was scurrying to clean his humble abode, knowing Mark wasn’t playing around about coming to Ireland. Mark didn’t kid around with that shit.

     Cleaning took about an hour, which was sad. His apartment shouldn’t have been so damn filthy. He didn’t even realize one man could have such a fucking mess until he cleaned it. Perhaps he’d just gotten used to looking over it.

     Jack knew that Robin would be awake by now, being an early riser. He pulled out his phone, shooting him a text.

_‘Hey, so. I’m getting an unexpected visitor._ _I’m gonna be posting some prerecorded shit for a while. Sorry about the short notice <3’._

     As he figured, it didn’t take much time at all for Robin to reply.

 

_Swedeboi: ‘oh, I know, jackaboy. who do you think sent him in the first place? i see all your secrets. You needed to talk to him. youll thank me later, dude’._

 

     Jack narrowed his eyes, though he didn't actually have any malicious feeling toward Robin. But  _still..._

     His editor had officially betrayed him.

     With a groan, he plopped himself down onto the couch, head in his hands for the second time in that eventful morning.

     A couple minutes later and he was scrolling through his chat with Mark, trying to get answers. All there was in it was texts that were like, _‘i wish youd answer because we need to talk,’_ and, _‘i know youre asleep but I really want you to wake up. This is super important’_ and, _‘I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Don’t leave me hanging, Jack.’_

     In summary, no answers.

     He was so sick with nerves that he was vomiting a surprising amount, and the loss of hydration was giving him severe fatigue and dizziness.

     Otherwise, he would’ve gone to pick Mark up from the airport. In other news, he was also really fucking shaky. All of this together? Not a good combo for driving.

     Maybe it’s worth mentioning that he can’t drive, nor does he have a car.

     Half that day was spent sitting in front of his front door or peering out the windows. The other half was pretty much nervous vomiting and a lot of unnecessary pacing.

     Jack was having one of those sweet, sweet vomiting fits when there was an urgent, hurried knock on his door that he knew had to be Mark. He almost didn’t even _hear it._

     He stood so quickly he probably gave himself whiplash, honestly. He rushed to flush the toilet and then fell over everything- including the air- on his way to the door.

     The cool metal door knob under his clammy, sweaty palms was a surprisingly serene feeling. His muscles tensed as his wrist twisted to open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin 
> 
> I apologize for the sin that is this cliff hanger


	5. an author's note. really depressing. seriously dont read this if you've got any sort of mental instability issue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shrug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm okay.

Hey.

 

I had a pretty bad mental breakdown today.

 

It took... honestly a lot to prevent my family from sending me to the hospital where I likely would've been institutionalized in some facility for mentally unstable people for reasons I don't think I'll get into much here besides giving you this: self-mutilation and some other thing. I guess you can assume by using contextual evidence.

 

Anyway, I'm one of my therapist's more unstable clients so she offers sort of round-the-clock access to her. The ol' family made me give her a call and she wanted to hospitalize me, too. Not that I blame her. She knows everything. I trusted her.

 

Well, she's doing her job and I know she means well, but my mind's got this funny way of taking good intentions and turning them bad. It makes life really fucking difficult for me and I don't trust anyone right now but I just have to live with that loneliness.

 

I've not been in the best place, and honestly, everything feels so hopeless for me. I can't remember the last time I felt this empty and alone and worthless. Does it ever feel like someone is repeatedly stabbing you in the stomach and chest with a knife and kind of just.. twisting it and wrenching it around slowly, but you're sitting there grinning because you aren't allowed to hurt when kids are starving in Africa and people are being abused by their parents? But goddamn it hurts really bad and that's selfish, so you're just hurting even more. Then the knife is done but now you're empty, and you don't know how to fucking feel or trust or _love_ anymore but that's just how it should be in the end since you don't even matter??

 

That's how I feel all the fucking time and it really  _really_  hurts.

 

It's hard to have hope for the future when I don't even have hope for today. I don't hope for anything because I'll just be disappointed. I'll just disappoint myself because I'm a disappointment and I don't count for shit.

 

So I guess you could say I'm delusional. A harsh word, mean even, but softening the edges of it doesn't change that it's still going to mean the same goddamn thing, no matter how pleasing it is to the ear or eye. If I tell myself I'm okay while I'm fucking dying inside, I'll trick myself into believing it seamlessly, and I won't look back at all. I don't know what's real anymore because I live inside this brutal, merciless fucking mind of mine. I don't know what happened this morning. If you asked me and someone who was there the whole time you'd get totally different stories, and it's not because I'm lying, it's because I genuinely am confused. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm alive. Most of the time I wish I wasn't. I don't know what to do.

 

I'm nothing.

 

I just want you all to know that I'm gonna try to keep writing since I still have so many ideas and I'm still so inspired for this wonderful story, but when you want to fucking die every moment of your life and you constantly feel this weight, yet emptiness, in your stomach, it's hard to do fucking anything. I want to. I just... I'm trying. I'm not lazy. I'm trying really, really hard. Please believe me.

 

Just know if I disappear I'll only be gone a week or so. Just know if it takes a while for another chapter or it's not as great quality wise that I tried. I didn't get lazy. I didn't give up on the story.

 

I just gave up on myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fine.


	6. for your eyes only, i show you my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is far more shattered than Jack could've imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about my thing yesterday

     When Jack opened the door, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t doubted for a second that Mark would actually show up at his house, but seeing him live and in person- and here, in England, not in America- still dumbfounded him. He was silent with surprised shock.

     They stared into one another’s eyes for a moment, and this turned into two moments, and this into several long minutes of intensely gazing at one another. As if both of their minds were catching up so that they were in the same moment.

     Mark was well dressed as usual, which did surprise the Irishman. His hair, though, wasn’t having its day, all disheveled and tossed around. There was just something about his visitor that seemed skewed, and he studied the profile time and time again, unable to put his finger on it. Mark seemed to be scanning Jack, too, which made him extremely anxious and self-conscious, really.

_He probably feels the same, dipshit._

     With a noise that kind of resembled a squeak, he turned his gaze away, hands behind his back. The noise and sudden movement from their otherwise unchanging positions and silence seemed to snap Mark back into reality, too, because the American let out a sad sigh and whirled around.

     “This was a mistake, Sean. I shouldn’t have come. You don’t even _want_ me here, and…”

     Jack didn’t know what came over him, but before he could stop himself, he grabbed Mark’s hand and turned him around. He closed the distance between them, looking up at him.

     “Y’know, ye talk way too much.”

     The American was startled, staring at Jack in shock. He just nodded in agreement as his friend backed them into the apartment. Mark somehow thought to pull the door shut behind him.

     Then it was back to shocked staring, until Jack suddenly shut his eyes. He didn’t know what he was doing, _but_ before he could change his mind, he nervously said, “Do somethin’. Anythin’. Ye pick what ‘appens nex’.”

     The Irishman waited with intense anticipation, wringing his hands together and tightening his muscles. For all he knew, Mark might walk away. He’d probably walk away. _Oh God, he was going to walk away._

     He felt arms around him, and he couldn’t help but exhale the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank ye.”

     “And you said I talk too much. Shut up, doofus.” He sniffled, breathing out a laugh.

     Now, Jack was nodding, his head on Mark’s shoulder.

     They stayed like this for a while, and they didn’t care. Neither of them wanted to let go of the other, so they didn’t. Why let go if you didn’t want to?

     Don’t get him wrong; Jack never wanted to let Mark go. He wanted to hug him forever, more than anything. He wanted to feel the warmth of the man against him and he never wanted it to leave.

     But he could hear Mark crying, and that was a sign to him that it was probably about time they talked. If that was why Mark had even come.

     The Irishman parted from him, directing him over to the couch, and they sat together, the air dense with tension.

     Jack drew his legs up, sighing. “Mark… why’re ye here?”

     The American’s eyes noticeably dulled. “For you.” He whispered, almost so quietly that Jack didn’t hear him. He physically strained to, actually.

     “Do… d’ya mean t’at…?”

     Mark nodded, his fingers twined together. “I just… haven’t… It hurts, Jack. My fans don’t love me. They love _Markiplier._ No one loves… _me._ I’m just… alone. I don’t have anyone. It’s so… fucking hard to get up every day and know that other than my colleagues, my business partners, I’m… alone. I can’t help but feel like there’s… there’s nothing for me here. For _me,_ just _me.”_

     Jack _broke._ He felt it: his heart shattering, tears filling his eyes, as he realized the hardest thing he could’ve possibly ever imagined was unfolding before him. It wasn’t some weird fantasy about Mark. He was just realizing _that,_ too.

     The worst thing he’d ever seen was in front of him, and that was Mark’s broken, empty brown eyes and a wavering smile, not unlike the ones he saw so often in videos or in their Skype calls.

     This man was _pulverized,_ his heart mangled and his trust in tatters. Jack could see it all so clearly now, and he wondered how he’d ever missed it, how he’d ever thought Mark was this happy-go-lucky goof.

     It was tear-jerking, the image before him. It was _torture_ looking at Mark, still smiling even after opening up, presumably because he was so used to hiding and internalizing everything he’d ever felt.

     Jack knew he had to stay strong for Mark. He knew he couldn’t let him go. He swore, at that very moment, that he’d do everything he possibly could to make sure Mark knew how much he loved him.

     Because he did love him. He loved him so much it hurt, but what if he wasn’t what Mark wanted? What if Jack lost him?

     “Mark… No… Mark, ye’re the most importan’ person ta me. I wasn’ kiddin’ when I told ye I loved ye. I wasn’ pretendin’. Ye’re my… ye’re my everythin’, and that’s the truth, Mark. It… really is. I don’ want ye t’feel this way. Ye’re so amazin’, jus’ everythin’ ye do, an’ it…” He broke off, blushing. Mark was staring at him with wide, sad eyes, and Jack knew he couldn’t stop there.

     “It drives me _insane,_ ‘ow amazin’ ye always are withou’ even _tryin’_. How sweet an’ carin’, even when ye feel this way. I can’t see ye like this, ‘kay? It hurts me t’know ye hurt, ‘cause I love ye. I don’t want t’see ye in pain. I wanna help ye, Mark, I wanna _be ‘ere._ I’m always here fer ye, always. Not as Jacksepticeye, or even as Jack, bu’ as Sean. The _real_ me, ‘ere fer the _real_ you. Jus’ us, no camera an’ no fakin’. Me and you.”

     Mark’s eyes widened and he fell silent. Jack hesitated, his mouth open while he stuttered and stumbled for words.

     Had he just fucked up? Why was Mark reticent all of a sudden? It would’ve comforted Jack, even, to hear the man sniffling with his tears. But instead there was nothing. He wanted _something,_ and oh _God,_ why was Mark looking at him like that? What had he done? _Oh God, oh God, oh_ _God, oh Go_ _d._ Oh _God_ those eyes. He couldn’t take this. And was Mark…

    That was a sob. He was unmistaken now about it. He hadn’t noticed right when he’d heard it, but after a second, he could tell. The noise dragged him from his never-ending spiral of thoughts, and his attention snapped fully back onto Mark, who was now in a breakdown.

     Jack’s blue eyes softened and he frowned, scooting close to him and wrapping an arm around him, his head resting on his shoulder. “Mark, please don’ cry.” He whispered, letting his eyes flutter shut as he sighed gently. “I don’-”

     “Stop, Jack, oh God, just _stop,_ ” He gasped through his wails, squirming away from him and holding his head in his hands. “I- I can’t do this! You’re only going to hurt me more when you forget about me and leave me behind. Oh _God,_ it _hurts._ Jack, please. _Jack, oh my God…”_

     Jack couldn’t take this.

     “Mark. Mark, I’ll never, _ever_ hurt ye. Come ‘ere. Come ‘ere, ye’re okay, come ‘ere,” He squeaked in surprise when Mark literally threw himself into Jack’s arms, sobbing to a point where he couldn’t even breathe. “Shh, Mark. Ye’re okay. I’ve got ye, ye’re okay. I’m not lettin’ ye go. I’m never lettin’ ye go. Ye’re here an’ it’s stayin’ that way. It’s okay.”

     He cooed more into Mark’s ear, comforting him as he held him tightly. It was twisted, but he didn’t want this to end. Not the whole Mark-having-a-mental-breakdown part, but Jack holding him in his arms. He wished more than that, though, that Mark would be happy.

     Jack knew it’d take work, and a lot of time. But he wouldn’t give up. He was dedicated to Mark, and this was just the beginning.

     This man was his world, and if it took an eternity, he’d still prove to him how much he loved him. He’d do it a million times and more, because this was his Mark.

     This was _his_ Mark, and he loved him, whether he was crying in Jack’s arms or laughing over some stupid joke while they were on a Skype call.

     And he _was_ going to prove that. He’d make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello angst


	7. when you are not the starring role in someone else's heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark bake pancakes until a visitor arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're damn welcome, kids. I love you all.

     "Fook ye, ya _bitch_!"  
     Mark cackled, lightly punching Jack's shoulder. "You fucking _wish_ , dude! You got destroyed!"  
     Jack blushed at the remark, kicking at Mark's ankle and scooting away. "Ye don' jus' _kiss someone's cheek_ while yer competin' against 'im in a video game, _arsehole_!"  
     The American laughed, moving over to Jack and picking him up to sit him on his lap. "And why not, hmm? You didn't enjoy it?"  
     He pouted. He wasn't admitting  _shit._ No way in hell.  
     "Be grateful, you Irish bastard." Mark quipped cheekily, his arms around Jack so he could grip his controller in front of him.   
     Jack pouted again, sticking his bottom lip out and looking over at Mark like a stray puppy. "Bu' now I can't upload t'at."   
     Mark shrugged nonchalantly, seeming to forget their situation. "Why not? Perfectly good footage, and it has your _favorite_ boy in it!"  
     The Irishman gave him a good natured eye roll. "They don' know, doof."  
     "...Oh. Right. Sorry, I forgot about that."  
     "It's... it s'fine. Hungry?" Jack asked, managing to weave his way around Mark's tanned, muscular- _don't_ think too much about this, _you fucking_ _leprechaun_ \- arms, sashaying his way to the kitchen.   
     "Totally!" He heard from the other room, and he giggled, smiling to himself. He was so damn _lucky_ , even if they weren't really anything right now. They were more than friends but no one had said anything about _dating_ or anything like that.  
     Jack sighed dreamily, his arms absent-mindedly reaching up for the cupboards. He didn't hear Mark sneak up behind him, and didn't realize his appearance until arms snaked around him from behind.  
     He yelped, tensing for a few moments before settling into the touch, leaning against Mark's body. _Don't think of that dream, fucker. Don't do it._  
     "Whatcha making?" Mark whispered in his ear, and he _hardly_ repressed a shiver.  
     "Dunno," he replied breathlessly, pretending to be looking even though nothing he saw was registering. "Anythin' ye want?"  
     Mark purred, tightening his grip around the smaller man. "I can think of one thing, actually." He chuckled, his voice dropping, like, 18 octaves.  
     This time, Jack couldn't stop the shudder that rippled through him. "Mhmm? Ye name it, I'll make it." He teased, smirking as he glanced over his shoulder at Mark. Two could play at _this_ game.  
     "Pancakes!" He cheered happily, pulling away from Jack.  
 _That_ wasn't what he'd been expecting.  
     After his initial shock, he made for a quick recovery. " _Hell_ yeah! Wanna 'elp, arsehole?" He offered, skipping over to the fridge to get the eggs and milk.   
     "You bet." Mark's eyes twinkled and he grinned, practically _bouncing_ around the room with his excitement. "Where's the flour? I forgot I don't live here." He chuckled, and Jack rolled his eyes, despite feeling the same way. Everything they'd been doing the past few days was... _oddly domestic._   
     And it felt fucking _wonderful_. It was so great to have someone with him after staying in this Godforsaken house all by himself for _so_ long.  
     His pantry was taking a toll, though. Jack didn't eat much, but Mark loved to eat, obviously not too much, but he ate a normal amount. Not to mention, if he tried to skip out on meals like he always did Mark might worry about him, and _neither_ of them needed that.  
     With a chuckle, he thought about how he'd gone on that snack trip. Mark would have to come grocery shopping with him, it seemed.  
     As he went for the flour, his mind did a 360 and he was suddenly thinking about their fandoms. How would they react to this? No, fuck that. First he'd need to figure out what exactly this was. He wasn't rushing Mark, of _course_ not, but this felt oddly, as he'd said earlier, domestic. Fluffy. _Couple-y._   
     He liked it. _Loved it,_ even, but he couldn't help but worry that once Mark got out of this rut, the man would just drop Jack. It happened all too often and he was all too prepared for it. He was _petrified_ , but he was trying to worm his way past the anxieties. He had to be there for Mark, even if it wasn't like this all the time. Even if it wasn't the way he wanted it.  
     Retrieving the flour, he shuffled over to Mark who was already searching the silverware drawers for a whisk.   
     "Doof, it s'over here." He laughed, reaching into the cup on the counter that had shit like wooden spoons in it. Jack pulled out the whisk, flinging it at the American, who instinctively caught it with his free hand.  
     "Hell yeah!" Mark grinned, sitting the whisk on the counter. "That was _nice_."  
     Jack rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. "Sure, idiot." He commented as he rummaged the drawers for a pan. "Can ye get the salt an' sugar while I'm doin' this? Should be in th'cabinet beside the fridge."  
     Mark hummed in response and Jack listened to his footsteps and the sound of him rummaging the cabinet.  
     Just as he yanked out a pan, Mark held up the salt and sugar. Both of them laughed and high-fived.   
     "We're a damn good team." Jack beamed as he went to turn on the oven. "Ye've made pancakes before, righ'?"  
     The man clicked his tongue in response while he mixed together the appropriate proportions of sugar, flour, salt, and baking soda, which Jack didn't even know where he got, and sifted them.  
     Meanwhile, he took the egg and cracked it into a bowl, pouring in the milk and whisking it together until it was smooth.   
     He turned around to ask if Mark was finished. However, the man was already on his way over to Jack. With a yelp- it didn't matter who from- they collided, successfully spilling the sifted ingredients all over both of them and the floor.  
     Jack was laughing, even as he fell headfirst into Mark, arms enveloping him. He looked up at the American with watery eyes, still cackling loudly. Mark was laughing too, repeatedly asking if he was okay despite knowing he was, his arms closed around the chestnut-haired man in a protective manner. He was shaking with his laughter.  
     Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Mark's waist, his forehead resting on that broad chest of Mark's.  
     As the laughter from both of them subsided, they seemed to become _increasingly_ aware of the situation. Jack half expected Mark to jerk away and look at him with disgust or start crying again. He almost squeaked with surprise when the grip on him tightened.  
     Yes, his heart _absolutely melted._  
     He pressed himself closer, sighing as he just... took in the warmth. He was okay with this, just standing in the middle of his kitchen being held by the person he loved.  
     One of Mark's hands snaked further around his waist, the other weaving its way into his hair.  
      _God_ , he was so happy Mark was letting this happen. He felt so safe and secure, wrapped in Mark's warmth and filled with hope and happiness and strength. This was _perfect_ , and he hoped Mark felt the same way.  
     "Hey." Mark mumbled, his eyes closed.  
     "Ye talk too much." He responded quietly, standing closer, if possible.  
     The American's eyes slowly opened, and Jack felt him moving his head around. "Jack."  
     "Apparen'ly ye don' _listen_ , either," he giggled, not moving.   
     "Shut up, there's someone knocking on your door."  
     "What?" He couldn't stop the whine that escaped his throat when Mark pulled away. Reluctantly, he followed, grabbing Mark's hand just to stop the cold feeling that had washed over him. He felt Mark's tense muscles loosen a bit as they made their way to the door.   
     Both of them stopped in front of it, as if they didn't know what to do, exchanging looks that spoke more than words could. And then they started arguing in hurried whispers, and the person on the other side of the door could probably hear them anyway, but _oh well_.   
     "You want _me_ to answer _your_ door?"  
     "Why the fook does it matter! I'm _righ' beside ye!"_  
     "Well, I don't know, it just doesn't _feel_ right-"  
     "Jaysis _Christ_ , Mark, open the goddamn door, ye _doof_!"  
     "...fine. But I'm _never_ going to forgive you for making me do this."  
     Jack rolled his eyes, still hand in hand with Mark as he pulled the door open. A very excited duo was at the door, and Jack was actually shocked.  
     "PJ? Fe? What're ye...?"  
     "Havin' a couple's quarrel?" Felix teased, his eyes darting mischievously to their intertwined hands. "How sweet. Sorry to interrupt. We came to hang out 'cause we heard Mark was in town."  
     The Irishman raised an eyebrow, glancing at Mark, who shrugged solemnly.  
     Jack groaned, pulling his friends into the apartment with his free hand and shutting the door behind him. "Fock ye both. We aren't _datin',_ fer one--"   
     He was about to actually go off on the two, for some reason feeling super sensitive and almost... _jealous_ , or maybe protective. Which was...  
     Was that _justified_...?  
     That was, until he felt the hand clasped in his own squeeze comfortingly, and his heart skipped beat. Blue eyes softening and growing slightly wider, he shifted his gaze over to Mark's molten chocolate ones and he held there, just staring until the shame was too much to bear.  
     "Jaysis, 'm sorry, I dunno what got inta me." He commented quietly, focusing on what had to be a marvelous spot on the floor.  
     What was even _happening_ to him...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU'RE DAMN WELCOME KIDS.
> 
> Jealous!Jack is my favorite. There wasn't anything even said to be jealous about but he has his ways c:


	8. you say that you're fine but you have lost your sway and glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries his best to deal with his intrusive jealous thoughts, and slips up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor jack trying to overcome his character flaws :( Also a longer than average chapter!!

     PJ, Mark, and Felix were laughing over some game, smacking each other and shit talking; just the usual banter. Jack had participated in the game, but he hadn’t paid attention and wasn’t playing around with his friends.

     His thoughts were plenty enough to keep him occupied and unable to think coherently.

 _Look at him, having fun. You thought he loved you? Ha! Hilarious. He loves them more than he does you, and that’s a fact. He’s so happy, joking with them. He doesn’t need you. He doesn’t even want you. Once he’s better off, he’ll get as far away from you as he can. He’ll never have to deal with you again! He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love you. You’ll never been enough. Open your eyes, Jack. Open your eyes, you damn_ fool.  
     Jack’s nail dug into his palms, tears shining in his eyes. He sunk his teeth into his lip to stop from crying and let himself tremble.

     “Jack? Are you okay?” Mark put a hand on his quivering shoulder. PJ and Felix were staring at him now, too.

     The Irishman cleared his throat, stomach knotting and his heart stopping. He put on a small smile, trying to loosen his muscles. “Yeah! ‘M fine!”

He felt his nails stab harder into his hand.

     “Are you sure…?”

     “Y-yeah!” _Good one, Jackaboy. Completely inconspicuous stutter._

     The American’s brows furrowed, his gorgeous eyes examining Jack in a suspicious manner. “Jack. You don’t have to lie to me.”

     “’M fine!” Jack laughed a little, widening his smile. “’M phone is dead, though, so ‘m gonna get m’charger.”

     Mark blinked, pressing his lips together. “Okay…”

     He abruptly stood, doing it in an unnatural and too-quick fashion. The three went right back to chattering, though Jack could feel Mark’s gaze on him. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he rushed down the hall and into his room.

     Once he’d gotten there, his legs gave out from under him and he fell to his knees, hyperventilating while he yanked at his hair.

     He did this quietly. If he wanted to keep it secret he’d just have to be quiet.

     But then tugging his hair wasn’t enough.

_He doesn’t love you._

_Think of how happy he is without you!_

_You’re worthless, Jack, a waste of space that’ll never be good enough. But you already know that, don’t you?_

_Get over him. He got over you in, like, two days. Everyone does._

_He loves them more than he does you._

_How does that_ feel, _Jack?_

     Jack stopped pulling his hair, slowly climbing to his feet and letting his breathing slow. _Waste of space. Let him go. He’s just too nice to say no. Can’t you tell? Don’t hold him back. You aren’t what he wants._

     He paced the room for a few moments before stopping in front of his wall, staring blankly at it.

     Seconds later, he was punching the shit out of it, fists flying blindly at the surface. His eyes were squeezed shut, breath held and his thoughts racing a mile a minute.

     And then he was done.

     Jack pulled his shaking hands close to his chest, staring at his wall. It had little dips in it, sure, but what caught his eye was the blood trickling down it.

     His gaze snapped to his knuckles, and for the first time he noticed how bloodied and bruised they were. He’d had to _look_ to know. He was fucking numb.

     He wasn’t _feeling,_ he was just _existing._ And that was fucking horrifying.

     Breathing growing labored, he fearfully deviated his eyes between the wall and his fists. What the fuck was going on? Why was he so… insane? That’s the word. Insane. He was _psycho._ This wasn’t fucking _normal._

     He wasn’t normal. Oh God. He was crazy. _Oh God._

     With a small yelp, he glanced worriedly around the room, scurrying to the bathroom and running his hands under cold water. He winced, because of _course_ he could feel it now. Why couldn’t he have stayed fucking immune to the pain?

     He looked at himself in the mirror. Tired, red eyes. Disheveled hair. He was a mess, all shaky and unstable.

     Oh fucking well.

     Trying his best to hide his knuckles from plain sight, he started back to the living room before halting half way down the hall.

     Hadn’t he said he was getting his charger?

     He turned on his heels, rummaging his room for his charger before hurriedly returning. “Sorry it took so long, couldn’ find the damn thing,” He lied, flashing a grin that, to him, screamed ‘God kill me.’

     The others didn’t seem concerned, though.

     “It’s fine, we were just about to start another round,” PJ replied, nodding to the TV, which had the Speedrunners menu on it.

     Jack moved to sit down, and he could feel Mark’s eyes on him. Trying not to get unnerved, he sat against the arm of the couch, hiding his hands.

     The American’s eyes narrowed, and he said in an almost sly manner, “Y’know, we really should record videos for our channels and shit. I haven’t collaborated with you guys in ages.”

     The Irishman reluctantly nodded as to not look suspicious. “T’at would be really cool. An amazin’ idea, Mark.” The way he said the name made it sound more like “Maerk.”

     Felix grinned. “Fuck yeah! Let’s do it!”

     “I’m down, _Maerk,”_ PJ mocked playfully, grinning at Jack.

     He let out a forced laugh, smiling too widely. “Shut up.” There was more of a bite behind the words than he’d meant for there to be, and the Brit flinched slightly.

     “Just kidding,” He muttered, letting out a nervous laugh.

     Jack kept his broad smile, turning to Mark. “Whatcha got in mind?”

     His tongue clicked. “Well! I was thinking something like, the whisper challenge or something, y’know. We could do some shit like that for my channel, impressions for PJ’s, something like quizzes for Fe’s. I dunno about yours, Jack.”

     “We can stream somethin’. T’at ‘s a me thing ta do, don’t ye think?”

     They all nodded, and so, the record-a-thon commenced.

     And Jack had known it was a horrible idea in the first place, but he was so focused on hiding his hands that everything he did looked so unnatural it was almost cringe-worthy. Between videos, they all asked him if he was okay, and he did his forced smile and promised he was like always.

     Not to mention the few times he was pretty sure he’d slipped up. Whether it be by staring at Mark for… an atypical amount of time, showing his hands accidentally, or snapping at Fe or PJ out of his jealousy. Needless to say, by the time they’d finished the three videos and were planning some quick things out for the livestream, everyone was pretty concerned about Jack.

     “Jack,” Felix looked him up and down. “Are you _sure_ you’re fine? You’re acting strange.”

     PJ nodded hesitantly, glancing rapidly from Jack to the floor. “You’ve been a bit snappy and…” He seemed like he had another word, but he stopped the sentence. “I guess it just feels like we’ve all got to walk on eggshells.”

     “’M fine!” He persisted, grinning at them and trying his best to make it look easy and normal. “I told ye already. Let’s jus’ get ta the stream, ‘kay?” Jack waved his hand, which he quickly realized was an idiotic mistake. He practically hissed, jerking his hand out of view and smiling even bigger.

     Mark was trying to get a glimpse of his hands, and Jack could tell. He kept shifting his stance according to how the American was moving, laughing awkwardly.  
PJ and Felix were apparently having a conversation with Mark via eye contact. Felix walked off, claiming to be using the bathroom. Meanwhile, PJ was asking him questions like ‘Are you lying?’ and ‘You know you can tell us, right?’

     He was so distracted by PJ’s incessant questions that he forgot about Mark sneaking up on him.

     Arms wrapped around him, too firm to be endearing although good-natured, and he screamed, which seemed to summon Felix from ‘using the bathroom.’ PJ watched anxiously as Mark’s hands grabbed Jack’s.

     He tried to wrench himself free, but Mark was at least three times as strong as he was. The grip was _not_ going to broken unless the American wanted it to be. He clenched his fists, twisting them knuckle-down. Yes, this cramped after a while.

     “Stop it, ye’re hurtin’ me!” He felt tears in his eyes as he struggled against the significantly bulkier man. All he could do was try to curl in on himself. He knew he wasn’t crying because Mark was actually hurting him.

     Jack felt like a fucking burden. A useless child who was helpless.

     And Mark finally separated his nails from his palm, and the dried blood from his abused hands was painfully noticeable. All the pairs of eyes in the room- when had PJ and Felix come so close to him? He felt very uncomfortable- fell to his violated, marred knuckles. His hands were flipped around and all the small lacerations to his palm were unveiled.

     A voice beside his ear, soft and gentle, asked, “Is this why you’ve been hiding your hands all day?”

     He took the moment of weakness and break free, shoving past Felix. Defensively, he drew his arms up, hiding the knuckles of one hand though exposing the other. A tear fell down his face, and he knew he was fucking embarrassing himself as the others looked at him with concern and pity. He hated the pity.  
What was he supposed to do? This was his house, he couldn’t exactly _leave._ Mark was staying here because he wasn’t exactly close to his home. He could kick the other two out, but Mark was still a problem there.

     A moment’s hesitation and he let out a shaky sob, twisting around and dashing off to hide in the bathroom. He slammed the door, locking it behind him and sinking against it to just have a good cry.

     The other three were all calling his name and knocking on the door, asking him to stop crying and to come out and talk because they were “worried.” That’s what he _didn’t_ want. He shouldn’t be worried about. He wasn’t _worth_ that.

     Gradually, the voices outside got less and less until it was only Mark left.

     For the millionth time that night, knuckles gently tapped on the door.

     He was done crying but only because it wasn’t physically possible for him to cry anymore. Apparently, though, this didn’t mean Mark had given up.

     “Sean,” He murmured delicately, which broke Jack’s heart. “Please come out. I won’t force you to do anything. I just don’t want you to feel alone.  
     “Stop,” Jack replied quietly. “Ye’re makin’ it hard ta be mad an’ shite… I don’t… I don’ want t’talk abou’ it…”

     Mark sighed almost inaudibly. “That’s okay, Sean. Just come out, okay? I’m worried, and you don’t want me to worry because then I’ll cry.”

     Great, now he felt guilty.

     Unhurriedly and reluctantly, he stood up and opened the door. He knew he was a goddamn mess, and he knew he looked it, too. Somehow, he found it in him to ashamedly lock eyes with Mark. Suddenly, he felt sheepish and out of place, like a boy facing his crush. He wished he could shrivel up into nothing, because that would be easier to handle than this was.  
     But Goddamn it, Mark’s warm, welcoming eyes staring into his cold, blue ones made him melt, and suddenly he was weeping again, practically falling into Mark’s arms.

     “Jus’… h-hold me, pl-ease,” He stuttered in between sniffles and tiny wails. “It s’all… s’al-all I w-want, please…”

     The American hushed him, an arm wrapped securely around his waist, locking him in a tight, tender embrace. His other hand was stroking Jack’s hair, which was damn good at calming him down. He wondered how Mark had known that before realizing it really didn't matter. He was doing it and he... loved that.

     “I’ve got you, okay? Just because I’m sad sometimes doesn’t mean you can’t be. I’ve got you. Let it out,” His voice was so endearing and loving that it made Jack cry even more, but the tears were happy. “You’re okay. Just cry. I’ve got you.”

     And that’s exactly what Jack did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention that I have somehow severely injured my hip while cooking?? Idk how I did that but yknow, thats a thing i suppose.


	9. and california never felt like home to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark do a couple's quiz to "tease the shippers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy

     Jack's eyes ached from crying and his voice was hoarse too.  
     It would be a long evening of tears and sobs and heartfelt conversations. Just two friends. They weren't famous YouTubers, and there were no camera faces like the ones Jack usually had on. They were just _people_. Two people crying in front of each other because they were _safe_.  
     "Jack, why?" Mark asked, voice as light as air. " _Please_. I opened up to you."  
     The Irishman looked away, wiping his nose with a little sniffle. "I don'... I jus'... I was... Jaysis, it's fockin' _stupid_..."  
     Mark took his hands, fingers ghosting over his knuckles. "Your feelings aren't stupid. I promise."  
     Jack tried to smile a little, eyeing their joined hands. With a sigh, he tried again. "I was... I was jus' jealous. Like I said it's fockin' stupid! I jus' couldn'... I was so scared ye wouldn' _want_ me anymore," he said honestly. "'Cause why _would ye_ , I guess. Bu' I got so jealous an' I was diggin' my nails inta my hands an' when I said I needed m'phone charger I jus' punched the wall 'cause I was so _upset_ an' couldn' _stop_ , I jus'..."  
     Mark shushed him and put a hand over his mouth. "You're rambling. It's okay."  
     "What?"  
     "It's okay." He repeated, smiling gently. "You're okay. I just never took you for the jealous type. It's... cute, actually... But it's _not_ cute that you hurt yourself, okay? You don't have to worry about me picking someone over you or something. It's _not_ gonna happen. You're _special_ , Sean."  
     He fell silent, a grin spreading across his face. After a moment he leaned forward, hugging Mark. "Thank ye. I don' know if I believe it... bu' I'm tryin'. Fer ye."  
     The American chuckled, wrapping his arms around him. "Your accent is _still_ adorable."  
     Flushing, Jack _literally_ squeaked, pulling away out of embarrassment. " _N-no!_ _Ah_... shite... Don' lie..."   
     Mark just smirked at him, looking smug. "I never will, Jackaboy. I _never_ will."

 

* * *

 

 

 

     "Top o'the mornin' t'ya laddies, my name is Jacksepticeye an' I'm 'ere with _Markimoo_!" He cheered Mark's nickname, hugging the man as he performed his intro.  
     They were doing a couple's quiz to tease the shippers. It was funny to them, seeing the fangirls jumble-typing in the comments and physically _squealing_ over the most unnoticeable moments of videos.  
     Well, now, they'd be getting an entire _video_ of fanfiction fuel.  
     "Today, we're gonna be doin' a couple's quiz fer all ye Septiplier shippers out t'ere. An' 'cause we _loooove_ each ot'er," he laughed, and Mark flashed a lopsided grin.  
     "Can confirm that I _do_  love this dork over here." He laughed, pointing at Jack.  
     Inwardly, the Irishman _literally_ fell apart, but outwardly he kept on his camera face, rolling his eyes with a little smile. "Whatever." Humming, he pulled out his phone, quickly typing in the passcode and hopping on the internet browser.  
     While he did this, Mark rambled to the camera, and he ended up sliding an arm around Jack's shoulders.   
     He blushed _slightly_ (read: unacceptable, _drastic_ amount), leaning into the touch. _Don't freak out, Jack. No gay panics here. It's just for the camera._  
     But _was it._..?  
     He hurriedly pulled the quiz he'd bookmarked up, waiting quietly for the page to load. He was practically bouncing in his seat with his excitement.  
     "It s'loaded!" He announced giddily, holding his phone out so that Mark could look over his shoulder. "Okay, so this is the 'How well d'ya know yer partner' quiz."   
     Mark read the first question allowed: "Can you name your partner's best friends?"  
     Jack smirked and laughed slyly. " _Easy_. Bob, Wade, an' Tyler." He counted the boys off on his fingers, nodding with confidence when he was finished.  
     "Wrong."  
     Jack's head tilted. "Huh?"  
     "You forgot yourself, you fucking _leprechaun_."  
     "I don' fookin' _count_!"  
     "Yeah you _do_!"  
     "'Kay, fine. I'll take it." He grumbled, glaring playfully at Mark. "But yer still full o' _shite_. Now, who're _my_ bes' friends?"  
     Mark clicked his tongue in an almost cocky fashion, grinning again. "Me, _obviously_ , and also Robin."  
     Jack pouted, shooting him a sour look, which told anyone and everyone that Mark was right. He sat the phone down and crossed his arms stubbornly. " _Fock yeh_."  
     "Don't be like that," Mark quipped, though he was laughing with triumph. He grabbed the phone from the table in front of them. "Next question... where did you two meet?"  
     They answered in sync, _entirely unplanned_ : "PAX, 2015."       When this happened, they looked at each other and busted out laughing.  
     "That was completely unplanned," Mark commented between his chuckles. "That was _so fucking weird_. Let's _never_ do that again."  
     Jack grinned at him, head on his broad shoulder. "W'atever, doof." He made a grabbing motion for the phone and leaned for it, taking it from Mark's hands and purposefully holding onto it for much longer than necessary. Snatching the phone, he held Mark's hand with his free one and scrolled to the next question. "'Kay, it says..." he stopped and snorted, smirking. "How often are ye intimate?"   
      Mark looked sly, chuckling as he answered for the both of them. "Classified information."  
      The Irishman giggled and blushed at his antics. This bitch wasn't just exciting the _shippers_. "Hell _yeah_ it is."  
     They exchanged a meaningful glance, and Jack tilted the phone so Mark could see the next question.   
     "Question four... What is one thing you often do together?"  
     Jack pretty much _purred_. "Cookin', makin' videos..." under his breath he added, "sleepin'..." Mark laughed at this, shoving his friend.  
     "Shut up, _nerd_."  
     "Never." He beamed, locking eyes with the American. "Next question says... do ye disagree often?"  
     Mark thought for a moment. "Nah, only about who's cuter."  
     "Which is _you_ , so." Jack said definitively.  
     "Nuh-uh."  
     "Yes-huh."  
     "Fuck you."  
     "Fook ye too."  
     "You _wish_ ," Mark grinned, cuddling up to Jack's side.  
     The Irishman shrugged. "I mean, ye aren' _wrong_."  
     It was the raven-haired man's turn to flush, staring at the table intensely. "Sh-" His voice cracked terribly. "-Ut up..."   
     Jack was back to his purring.  
     Hoarsely, Mark cleared his throat and read the next question. "What is your favorite quality about your partner?" His eyes lit up suddenly, as if this question was exciting or something. "Me first, _me first_!"  
     Surprised by the sudden enthusiasm, Jack sat back and gave him the floor.  
     His tone suddenly altered, becoming very serious and genuine. It was startlingly different from their joking flirts and hugging throughout the entire video. "My favorite thing about Se-" he stopped, clearing his throat. Jack was touched because he knew his real name was only used when Mark was being sincere. "My favorite thing about Jack is how selfless he is. I mean, he could be having a _horrible_ day, beating himself up over anything and everything and just really, _really_ upset about every thing. But he'd _still_ be there for me no matter what and he'd still cheer me up. He does everything he can to make sure I'm happy and having fun and he always encourages me and tries to get me to always be my best. I... I don't know what I'd do without him. Or where I'd be. He's... my inspiration." Mark froze suddenly, blinking hard. " _Shit_. I'm rambling."  
     Jack had started crying half way through the heartfelt rant. Mark wasn't playing for the camera anymore, and this was the most noticeable thing to Jack. The first thing he thought to do was thank Mark, but when he parted his lips and made the effort to speak, all that escaped was a choked sob. His hands covered his mouth, and he stared at Mark in awe, because _God_ did he _actually_ feel that way? More tears slid down his cheeks and he moved a hand to wipe at his eyes.  
     He'd forgotten about his knuckles, but he didn't _care_. All he cared about was Mark, who was staring at him longingly. This only made him cry even more. He was fucking _gone_. 

 _Both_ of them were.   
     Were they recording? Jack didn't fucking know. All he saw was the American's gentle, misty eyes and the tiny smile playing on his thin lips. He tried to speak again, but he just let out another noise of amazement mixed with the urge to sob.  
      Quickly, he stood, wanting to leave so he could clean himself up because they still needed to finish this video. Jaw clenching around his hand to prevent anymore noises, he went to whirl around, but Mark grabbed his other wrist.  
      His attention was directed back to the man, and he watched Mark stand, hand still wrapped around his quivering wrist.  
      Jack loosened his grip on his own hand, staring lovingly at the American. He had nothing to say. Maybe his eyes were enough to tell Mark how much this meant, because even if he _wasn't_ about to sob, he wouldn't know how to express his feelings. _Especially_ not in front of a camera. Another tear wiped, but this time, he let his arm down, hesitantly holding it at a bent angle, his hand shut as if he were holding a firefly in it.  
     Suddenly, he was pulled tenderly toward the other man, and he stumbled slightly into him. Mark's eyes were on his trembling lips, and they were nervous and needy, making Jack feel self-conscious.  
     He felt a hand on his cheek- _when did that get there?_ \- and it brushed off a tear. Somehow, he didn't think he could cry anymore. He didn't have it in him.   
     They were both leaning forward. He hadn't realized he was even _doing it._ What was he _doing_? What was _Mark_ doing? Oh _God_. He couldn't think.  
     But he didn't _want_ to think.  
     They were only an inch apart at the most when there was a knock on his door.  
     Flustered, Jack stepped away reluctantly, running a hand through his hair. "I-I'll get it," he rasped, voice weak and quaking.  
     He walked hurriedly toward the door and pulled it open, agitated and anxious and a lot more that he couldn't even _name_ because he wasn't sure he quite knew _what_ to call them.   
     Jack was met with the delivery man, who was holding a package.  
     Oh, right. He remembered now that he'd ordered something. He'd remember later what it _was_ , hopefully. He still couldn't think. Until the delivery man asked if he was Sean McLoughlin, he didn't even know his goddamn _name_. His mind was racing.  
     He nodded, reaching for the clipboard and signing the paper. Thanking him quietly, he grabbed the package.  
     Hastily, Jack stepped inside and shut the door behind him, leaning against it for support.  
      _Oh God_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry


	10. you put your arms around me and im home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark doesn't stop Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this chapter wrote itself i am on a roll you are so welcome for this

     Jack was still sitting against the door, chest tight as he tried to catch his breath and recollect every thing that had happened.  
     He tossed the package aside, despite the 'FRAGILE' warning that was written in at _least_ 7 places in huge red letters.  
     Mark had almost _kissed him_. He'd almost kissed Mark? He wasn't sure but it didn't matter because they'd _almost kissed_.       He was freaking the _fuck_ out.  
     Taking one final deep breath, he stood to go face Mark.  
     But the half-Korean had apparently had the same plan, as his head poked through the entrance of the hall. "Uh... are you... should I...?"  
     Jack just shook his head, because what the _fuck_ was he trying to ask anyway? "I... think I wanted t'at jus' as much as yeh did. Bu' I jus'... don' want ye ta decide ye don' want t'at after it s'too late."   
     He knew his accent was at _least_ three times thicker than usual but _oh fucking well._  
     "Jack, we've been _over this-_ " Mark started, his voice leaking with desperation of many sorts as he paced toward the Irishman.  
     Jack sighed. " _No_ , Mark. It s'not t'at. Are ye sure a relationship is what ye _really_ want?"  
     Mark was silent until he stopped in front of Jack and took his hands again. "I don't _know_ , okay? I don't know what I want."  
     The Irishman stared at him. "T'at s'why I said we should wait before makin' anythin'... definite."  
     "Jack, I need you."  
     "W'at?"  
     " _I need you."_  
     Jack shook his head again, smiling a little. "Yeh don', Mark. I'm too much fer ye. Especially wit' yer mental state jus' now-"  
     "Sean William McLoughlin, if you _ever_ try to tell me I don't need you _or_ put yourself down again, I will hurt myself."  
     "W'at?"  
     "You heard me."  
     " _Mark_ , 'm _serious_." He said again, exasperated and tired suddenly. "Why d'ya think Signe lef' me?"  
     "I'm not Signe." Mark persisted.  
     "Mark, _please_."  
     The American shook his head in frustration. "Don't 'Mark please' me, Sean. I don't know _shit_. I'll admit that. But I do know something. I know that I _want you._ I don't feel about you the way a _friend_ does, Sean. You mean _so fucking much_ to me and I don't understand the way I feel right now. I just know that you're _all I fucking need_ , okay? Don't ask me how because I have no goddamn answer but I'm _telling you_ , Sean, I am telling you _right here and now_ that you're all I want _and_ need."  
     Jack stared into those brown depths, searching desperately for a hint of pity or anything else that would make this less real, because he wasn't ready to process those words. Mostly because Mark was all he needed, too, but what if Mark changed his mind? Loving was a risk but you learn by your risks and this went against _everything_ he'd learned.  
     He trusted Mark. He _really_ did.  
     But he didn't trust him to make this decision and want to stick with it. Did the American even realize how problematic he was? Jack was a hundred percent sure that, if he did, he wouldn't be here, telling this stupid Irish _shithead_ he was all he needed.  
     Jack wanted to love Mark, and he did. He loved him so _fucking_ much, but he was _terrified_ of that. He shouldn't get attached to people like that. It'd only hurt him.  
     Would Mark ever hurt him?  
     This made him pause.  
     Mark was the most appreciative, compassionate, and kind person he knew. He wouldn't hurt a _fly_ and if he did it on accident, he'd _probably_ cry. A lot. He was the biggest sweetheart, and so incredibly romantic.  
     He was... every thing Jack wanted.  
     What was he waiting for?  
     Jack stared at Mark, glancing at his lips. He was fucking anxious. He might _sob_. This was the riskiest thing he'd ever done and it was all for this stupid _goober_ he'd fallen in love with. How did he get here, in love with his biggest idol, about to kiss him because of it? He had to be dreaming. No, he _certainly_ was. Right? Oh _God_.  
     Before he could think any longer, he removed his hands from Mark's grip, resting them on his face. He leaned in, telling himself not to think or second guess what the _fuck_ he was doing, because it he did, he'd stop, and he didn't even _want_ that.   
     Instinctively, his head tilted, and then his lips were trapped in the best cage he could've _possibly_ imagined.  
     When Mark started kissing back, he knew every other kiss he'd ever had had been wrong. Strange. Incorrect. All of those kisses when he could've had... _this_.  
     His eyes closed, and suddenly all of his other senses were amplified. He felt Mark's arm around his waist and another around his upper back, pulling him so close, but it wasn't close enough.   
     He thought in all those other kisses he'd melted, but now? His body _was_ Mark's, and they were suddenly one, two people learning to love but learning so quickly that time and space couldn't keep up with them.  
     Jack had _never_ felt this.   
     His lips parted, and the man seized the opportunity, his tongue slipping into Jack's mouth and exploring every inch of it, claiming it as his. It was his. This was an unspoken promise.  
     The low groan from deep in Mark's throat vibrated through his mouth, and he whimpered in response, sliding his hands gently from Mark's face, down his neck, and to his chest, gripping his shirt firmly and pulling him so hard that they stumbled backward into the door.  
      _God_ , that was _hot_.  
     So Jack moaned again.  
     His breath had been stolen and yet, given back to him except in a better state, and the taste of Mark filled his mouth. He didn't want this to end.   
     It was this moment that he knew he was _not_ mistaken in what he'd decided.  
     He'd been right to need this, because this _was_ right. All of this was perfect. There was no question about that from either party.  
     Somehow, the kiss deepened, and another low moan escaped Mark's lips. Jack could listen to that all day _._ He could do _this_ all day. He _wanted_ to do this all day. _He wanted Mark._  
Jack was in love. He was so, _so_ in love, and it'd taken a kiss to figure it out, but the passion behind it had shown him so clearly what had been in front of his eyes for _so long_ , just out of reach and yet tantalizingly close, so close he could _taste_ it.  
     Now, he was _actually_ tasting it, and it was everything he'd expected and _more_.  
     In a blurring, emptying, and swaying world, Mark was all he knew, all he felt, all he _needed_ , and he knew that much. Maybe Mark knew it too.   
     No, Mark _had_ to know it too, because he hadn't only not stopped him...  
     He had _kissed him back._  
     And that had genuinely meant more at that second than _any_ stuttered, uncertain word in the dictionary.  
     Finally, they parted, gasping for air. When Jack opened his eyes, everything was dark except for the beautiful face before his eyes and he sighed with content. Without hesitation, he put their foreheads together.  
     Breathlessly, Mark whispered, "You could've just pecked my cheek."  
     "That's borin'," Jack replied shakily, letting his eyes flutter shut again as he wrapped his arms around the older man.  
     "I guess you're right." Mark answered, shifting his position to wrap his arms around Jack's waist in return.  
     "Usually am," he mumbled, nearly inaudible.  
     Mark laughed gently and Jack heard him breathe in as if he was going to say something else.  
     "Shut up, idiot." He giggled softly, and Mark laughed again, tightening their embrace.  
     "Jack, can I say one thing?"  
     "Jus' one."  
     "I love you, I think."  
     The Irishman melted, moving his head to press himself against Mark's chest and huddle there. It was so secure and warm in those strong arms, and he _couldn't get over it._

     "I think I love ye too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOURE SO WELCOME


	11. it's all because i dreamt of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark convinces Jack to take him to the pet store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.55k words of pure fuckin fluff MERRY CHRISTMAS/HAPPY HOLIDAYS IF YOU DONT CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS

     “Mornin’, sleepin’ beauty,” Jack hummed, flipping the omelet he was cooking as Mark walked into the kitchen. He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Ye look a mess.”

     “I just woke up, dick.” The American quipped gently, running a hand through his bedraggled and tousled hair. “What are you making?”  
     Jack laughed, rolling his eyes. “Omelets. Ye want one?”  
     “When do I _not_ want food?”

     “Ye’re righ’.” Jack answered cheekily. “Well, t’is one s’done, if ye wan’ it.”

     “Are you sure you don’t want it? I can make one for myself-”

     The Irishman rolled his eyes, grabbing a plate he’d set out on the counter and sliding the omelet into it. “Shut up.”

     “Okay.”

     “Thanks, sunshine,” He grinned as he took the plate and a fork to the dining room and pushing it to where Mark was seated. Turning back to the stove, he started making another, still humming as he did so.

     It stayed like this until after Jack had finished cooking his food and was sitting across from Mark at the table, about to take his first (and probably only, really) bite.

     Mark, too was taking his first bite, since he hadn’t wanted to start eating without Jack. Mouth full, he said, “You know… I really miss Chica.”

     Thinking the man was looking for a conversation starter, he replied, “’M sure she’s safe in Ethan’s ‘ands.”

     And then Mark went on with, “We should go to the pet store.”

     Jack almost choked, fork clattering onto his plate and making a terrible clinking sound. “What?” He finally asked after he was done coughing.

     “The pet store,” Mark repeated casually, spearing a piece of omelet. “To play with the little puppies and-”

     “’M not gettin’ a dog.”

     The American pouted. “Why not? You always talk about how much you want one!”  
     “It’s jus’ too much fer me righ’ now.”

     “You could get a cat.”

     “Mark.”

     “Can we at least go play with them?”

     Jack sighed. “Mark, really?”

     Mark looked up from his plate, giving Jack puppy eyes and sticking out his lip. He started doing that stupid Sayori thing, where she puts her index fingers together. “Pleeeeeeease?”

     Jack narrowed his eyes and rubbed his temples, groaning. “Fine! Fine. Ye win. We’ll go look at th’puppies, bu’ only ‘cause ye miss Chica. An’ ye will _not_ convince me ta buy one, eit’er. It s’not gonna ‘appen.”

     “Understood, sweetheart.”

     “Good.” Jack flicked a piece of pretty much uneaten omelet at Mark, and thus began their food fight, along with a huge mess that they had to clean up before going to the pet store.

 

* * *

 

     “I can’t fockin’ believe I let ye convince me inta t’is. I love dogs an’ all t’at bu’ this damn pet store is a fockin’ hour away.”

     Mark laughed, grabbing Jack’s hand as they walked. “It’s okay, coffee bean, we can do this. Besides, it’s closer to half an hour.”

     Jack rolled his eyes at the nickname, tightening his hand around Mark’s. “Did ye get the vloggin’ camera? I’ll be damned if we don’ get somethin’ outta t’is.”

     “Yes, Scrooge.”

     “Shut th’fock up, dick. I don’ wanna walk.” He whined, kicking a rock into the street.

     “I’d carry you, but you’re a fat potato.”

     Jack flinched at the joke. He was sensitive about his weight. It was killing him to eat two meals a day around Mark. He normally ate one or none. Actually, he was this close to dropping back to his usual schedule, because Mark didn’t seem to be planning on leaving anytime soon.

     Not that Jack wanted him to.

     “Jack? Are you okay?”

     Oh, right. He should probably say something. “Yeah! Yeah, ‘m fine, yeah.”

     Mark stopped walking, releasing Jack’s hand to turn toward him. “Sean.”

     The Irishman stiffened and he clenched his fists, staring at Mark for a few moments before he couldn’t bear it anymore. “Can we not do t’is ‘ere? ‘M fine.”

     “Okay, fine, whatever.”

     “Fine, w’atever!”

     “Let’s go, then.” Mark grabbed his hand again, and they were walking down the street again, forgetting the past events surprisingly quickly.

     Jack pointed at a dog being walked by its owner. “Look at ‘ow cute it is!”

     “We can ask to pet it.” Mark laughed at him.

     He nodded vigorously, beaming like a kid in a candy store. They walked toward the dog and asked the man to pet it.

     “His name is Rocky,” The owner informed them as they showered it with pets and received licks in return.

     “He’s beautiful.” Jack laughed as he was given a slobbery kiss to the cheek. “Aren’ ye beautiful, boy? Aren’ ye?” Another lick, and he giggled again. “Yes yeh are! Awww, look atcha, all cute and everythin’!”

     Jack kept cooing to the dog, scratching behind his ears and chuckling when he was kissed back.

     The owner pulled Mark aside, still gripping the leash.

     “Just a guess, but is he your boyfriend?”

     Mark looked surprised. He’d assumed the man was going to ask him to have Jack chill and stop harassing his dog. “Ah- n-no, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t say _that,_ why?”

     “Oh. I asked because I thought you were cute together and was going to ask for the name of the dog you guys have, since he clearly loves dogs… Sorry for assuming, though,” The stranger looked sheepish, scratching the back of his neck in shame.

     “D-don’t worry about it! I’m just a friend visiting… Um… he actually doesn’t have a dog.” He replied.

     “Really?”

     “I keep telling him to get one.” Mark laughed awkwardly. He hated social interaction.

     “He’d be a wonderful pet owner,” The man commented, smiling a little.

     A couple minutes later, Jack was ready to go, saying something about not wanting to impose on their walk, and they said goodbye to the man and the dog and were on their way.

     “Sooo, Jack,” Mark looked smug as he once again intertwined their fingers. “You seemed pretty happy, you know, _petting that dog.”_

     “It s’not gonna ‘appen!”

     “Whatever you say, sweetie.”

 

* * *

 

     Jack practically dashed into the pet store, squealing like a little boy. He heard Mark mutter, “I thought _I_ was the kid.”

     He looked around excitedly, Mark appearing beside him. “Where are th’dogs?” Jack asked, holding Mark’s arm.

     They searched the store, and by the time they’d found the dogs, there’d been enough time for Mark to get just as enthusiastic as Jack was.

     As they sprinted toward the dogs, Jack breathed out, “Ye were supposed ta keep me grounded!”

     “I can’t control myself.” Mark panted in response.

     They laughed until an employee yelled at them to stop running, to which they coyly responded with uttered ‘my bad’s and ‘it won’t happen again’s.

     At a speed-walk, they made it the rest of the way, halting in front of the cages filled with cute little eyes and noses and paws and soft fur that Jack couldn’t _wait_ to stroke.

     “Mark! Mark! Oh my _God,_ look at t’at one!” He squealed, pointing at a little puppy curled up with a couple other ones.

     And thus, they asked for the little sleeping puppy and went into one of the compartments to hold and play with it.

     Upon getting it out, it was instantly asleep again.

     “Big mood.” Mark said jokingly, and Jack busted out laughing, smacking his arm. 

     Jack cradled it in his arms, scratching it gently behind the ears. The worker had told them it was a boy, but it hadn’t been named by the staff since they figured it would be adopted quickly.

     “We always name the new animals we get,” The woman had gushed, her eyes staying on Mark or in his direction at all times. “Sometimes they stay for a while, so it’s good for them to feel a sense of familiarity.”

     The entire time she’d been speaking, he was clenching his fists so hard that his nails made him bleed. She made it extremely clear she thought Mark was attractive and continuously tried to find excuses to touch him, and it made Jack’s jealous conscious throw itself into full view.

     Mark must’ve known- how he had figured it out, Jack didn’t know- because he gently pried Jack’s fingers from his palms, holding his hand and even pecking his forehead or cheek a few times to make sure the lady got the message.

     Jack was still a bit upset, but when he was given the little puppy, he was able to push it all into the back of his mind.

     “I wanna call ‘im Mack,” The Irishman had said, giggling. “’Cause t’at s’our names put toget’er.”

     Mark started laughing his ass off, and Jack shot him a quizical look. “S-sorry,” He wiped his eyes. “I just thought about how my name and your real name could make ‘Mean’ and I died.”

     “All ‘cause ye’re part o’ it! Everyone knows yeh’re a little shite.”

     And they’d continued laughing, Jack still absentmindedly stroking the dog.

     They held a few other dogs, too: a girl named Ryo, a girl named Stella, a boy named Max… and there were so many other dogs to hold, but they also wanted to hold the rodents.

     “I really wanna hold a fockin’ snake,” Jack told him, a skip in his step as they trotted hand in hand to the rodents and reptiles.

     “What if it kills you?”

     “Cool!”

     Mark rolled his eyes and laughed. “Jesus. What am I gonna do with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A LITTLE NOD IN THERE TO MY BEST INTERNET FRIEND RYO (POEMISDEAD) WE ALL LOVE HER TO PIECES


	12. my mind's a broken record (make it go away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark notices Jack's biggest secrets, and it's extremely difficult for him to cope with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the angst. mewwy chwistmas
> 
> Hardcore angst and slight trigger warning for any victims of abuse. Mention of eating disorders.

     “Jack, are you hungry?”

     “Not… not really, why?”

     Mark shrugged, popping a chip into his mouth and making animated hand gestures before resuming the snowflake-making. Mouth full, he elaborated: “I dunno, I guess I just noticed how you only eat, like, twice? And both times it’s never much.”

     Jack flinched visibly, but Mark was too focused on cutting out their snowflakes to really notice it. “Uh- I… ‘m jus’ not a ‘eavy eater, I s’pose…”

     “Are you sure?” Mark snipped at his snowflake, accidentally chopping it in half. After spewing curse words, he went on. “I mean, you used to look, like… unhealthily skinny, and you still kinda do. I dunno, I guess I’m just worried about you because I can’t really remember the last time you’ve looked… I dunno, physically healthy?”

     The Irishman stiffened, his sentences coming out a little too fast and jumbled. “Wh-what? I don’ know what yeh’re talkin’ about’. I’ve always been fa-” He froze, coughing in an attempt to cover up what he was _going_ to say. “Abou’ average weight.”

     He cringed at saying that. Jack was lying through his fucking teeth. He knew he’d always been  _fat,_ and he was now, too. Self-consciously, he looked down at himself. Just as he’d thought, he was as heavy as always. He hated food. He hated eating. The feeling of anything in his stomach made him sick, and he _hated_ it.

 _You’re fat b_ _ecause you’ve been eating so much. All this time, all this hard work and you’re throwing it away not to worry this_ guy? _Just stop being stupid, dumbass. You’re fat and if you keep eating it’ll only get worse. Just get back to your schedule. You’ve been at it for years. When was the last time you weighed yourself? I wouldn’t do it now, the numbers would be even scarier_ _than they used to be._

     “Jack, you really… It doesn’t look like…” That was the moment Mark looked up to see Jack staring down at himself with disgust and hopelessness, and you could’ve _heard_ his heart breaking. “Sean. Have you been being honest with me?”

     At Mark’s hand on his shoulder, his head snapped up. “Yes!” He practically spat. “S-sorry, ‘m jus’… I… Shite, I…”

     “Sean, please, okay?”

     “I can’t lie t’yeh.”

     “Okay…” Mark was sitting the scissors down on the table, turning to Jack, who was still fiddling with his scissors.

     Jack opened and closed the blades, staring down at the dull ends just to have something to distract him. He turned them around in his hands absently, running his fingers along to edges. The metal was cool against his finger pads, and he really did like that. He loved it a lot.

_He’s going to hate you, Jackaboy. He’s going to see you the way you see yourself. Are you excited? Are you ready? He’s going to think your fat, and rightfully so. Look at yourself._

     His eyes closed tightly.

     “I don’ want t’say it. I change m’mind.”

     Mark ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to do?”

     “Guess…? Please… I don’ want t’say it ou’ loud. Don’… don’ make me. Please.” His voice was a whisper, broken and weak.

     “Do you… did you…” He seemed to be struggling for a better way to word it, but he gave up. “Do you starve yourself, Jack?”

     It hurt to do it. It hurt to admit his biggest secret.

     But he couldn’t lie anymore. It wasn’t fair to Mark and he couldn’t put his best friend through that.

     He nodded slowly, swiveling the point of one side of the scissors into his thigh gently.

     “But… Jack… Why?”

     Oh God.

     Oh _God._

     Why couldn’t Mark have been satisfied with just the confession? He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t tell Mark everything. It was all so stupid. _He was stupid._

 _He’ll blame you. Everything was your fault anyway. He won’t understand. You’re wrong for this. You’re wrong to want anywhere in you to tell him. You’ll burden him more, because that’s all you are. Everything will be_ your fault.

     Oh God.

     He hadn’t realized he was stabbing his arm with the scissors until his skin had broken from the pressure. Mark yanked the object from his hands and tossed it across the room.

     Jack jumped in fear as it clattered into something, and he maneuvered around the chair, backing away from the American.

     Mark clambered to his feet, too, grabbing Jack’s wrist gently. “You’re not running from me again, Jack. I want to help.”

     “Please let go.” He whispered, shaking violently.

     “Let me help, _please_ Jack.”

     “I said _let me go!”_ Jack was yelling this time, yanking free of his grip. He stumbled backward, eyes filled with tears and utter terror. “Pl-please don’… don’ touch me,” He fell to the floor, curling up and breathing heavily.

     Mark stared down at him in concern, his heart pounding. He didn’t know if he should step back or comfort Jack. What the _fuck_ was happening?

     Jack was hyperventilating, unable to properly take in air. The world was muted. He couldn’t breathe. _Why can’t I breathe?_

     And in his mind’s eye, he saw his ex-girlfriend.

     He knew what this was now.

     It kept replaying over and over. Pictures of her. Her, forcing him to commit to sexual acts he never wanted to do. Her, hitting him over and over for the tiniest things. Her, _breaking_ him, calling him worthless, telling him all he was good for was his ability to easily be used. Her, constantly attacking him, verbally and physically, informing him bitterly that no one cared about him anyway. Her, tying him to their bed and…

     She constantly reminded him that he was nothing, that he had no place in the world if it wasn’t to serve her. She’d tell him he meant nothing without her, maybe even reward him with a slap, and he goddamn believed her. He learned to put up with it.

     She told him he was fat, and starved him out until he liked the way it felt to be empty, until he _cherished_ being mere skin and bones. But with that came a price, and soon enough, he was at a dangerously low rate.

     She hadn’t wanted to deal with the medical problems that tagged along with her abuse.

     She ended things with him after two years. Two years of threatening to kill him if he told or if he tried to run or get help or leave her.

     Jack couldn’t breathe. He didn’t remember how to. He could see Mark’s dull, worried eyes and his mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear him. All he heard was her.

     It’d been so long since that dreadful time in his life, and that same dread was coming back now. He was pretty sure his old therapist had deemed it a flashback, but he was pretty sure his old therapist also just wanted his money if he was honest here.

     Mark had tried to come toward him, and Jack thought he might’ve kicked him. He couldn’t think past all those distracting images, those painful thoughts, the hurtful words, all replaying endlessly like a broken record.

     Useless. Fat. Nothing. Worthless. Waste of space. A _toy_. Meant to be _broken_. Then a slap, or punch, or kick. Maybe him, bound to their headboard, asking her to stop, saying no, and instead being gagged, because having limits and talking too much was bothersome. Not wanting to do anything like that was _bothersome_.

    _He was bothersome._

     Where had his lungs gone?

     Why wouldn’t they come back?

     His chest was hurting, like someone stabbing him just because they knew it’d hurt. He couldn’t breathe or think and all he was feeling was this dread. An impending doom, and he kept turning this way and that, trying to find an escape, but there wasn’t one. There wasn’t one, just like back then, back when this was happening.

     He didn’t deserve to escape.

     This was Jack’s fault.

     He never tried to get away. He never tried to stop her. He just always said he couldn’t. Maybe he’d be fine if he’d just tried, but instead, he was weak and useless and he didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t mean anything. He didn’t mean anything. He didn’t mean anything.

     It hurt so much.

     Suddenly, he could breathe again.

     The images still reeled in his head, making him sick, but he could hear. He could breathe. Jack gasped for air as if he’d just been saved from drowning, because really, he had been.

     Slowly, he resurfaced, coming back to his senses. At first, Mark’s figure startled him, and he started to panic again, pressing himself against… what was even behind him?

     “It’s okay! It’s me, it’s Mark, you’re okay.”

     And his tenseness gradually reduced, his wild, alert, wide eyes flicking over Mark’s form. He studied him for a couple moments before calming down the best he could, releasing the exertion he’d placed on himself.

     He ran a hand through his hair, wanting to sigh but feeling too grateful for the sweet feeling of air in his lungs to possibly waste it on a sigh, or even a deep exhale.

     “Jack, do you by any chance…” Mark trailed off, losing his train of thought.

     “S’what my t’erapist said,” He replied shortly after a small span of time, voice shattered and merely a mumble.

     “You don’t go to your therapist anymore?”

     “S’my faul’.”

     Mark shook his head, slowly easing his way to Jack’s side. “I don’t know what happened, but you wouldn’t feel this way if it was your fault. I’m not going to make you say anything and… I’m really… I’m so, _so_ sorry that I-”

     “Don’ be.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry


	13. f̘̥̗͔͖̤̤̃̌͑̅̑͌͜a̫̯͙̅̐͑̔̌̿ṟ̜͇͈͟ t͛͊̅̂͛͘҉̸͓̩̙o͕̩̼̪̐ͬͦͩ͛̉͊o̪̪̺ͫ d̢̝̤̺͚̱̘͕͖̫͚̼͕̬̀̔ͥ͆͂̿́̅̅̇̒̒̐̾ͫ̈̄̅ͅaͦ̆͗̾̈̅ͣ̓̎̒̚͏҉̟͈͚̘̤̰̫͡m̴̵̶͎̣̠̻̗̱͔͉͕͚̭̓͋̐ͬ͆̅͗ͨͦ̍ͬ̿ͥ́͛ͨͥ̕̕a͒̇ͣ̅̇͂̕͞҉̪̱̘̼g͐͋̎̆ͩ͞͠͏̕͏̣͚͔̜̗̬̺ę̷̡̢̥̻͙̘̟̞̙̟̯̣̱͔͚̄ͦ̐̉̆̄͗͌̃͝ḍ̭̠̦̤͖͙̠͕̻̠͛̄̎̉̍ͦ̃͂͌ͪ̀̊ͬ̍̍̄ͨ̔̀͘͘͡.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> b̮̭͉̤̖̤̜̀̕̕r͑̽͂͑̇͆̓҉̠͎̤͢ḛ̞͈͇̘̋̂a̷̹̠͓̒̿t̷̶̬̯̳͓̖͐̊̽͊͞ ̀ͦͪ҉͔̘͈͉ệ̵̪͇͇̭͚͎̹͊ͩ̋ͪͣ̈́  
> ̼̝͎̳͔̐̅ͯͬ͛͌̏ͯ͢s̼̦̤̥̎͆̽ͮ͡ͅẽ̮̟̫̙̗̺̋̋̃ͨ͒̚ê̶̜͙̰͉̻̪̘ͩͫ͑̀͗ͥ̈̌  
> ̶̡̬̟͙͚̯̩̝ͨ̄̔f̯͗͑͌ͬ́̍̽̉e̡̦̼͈̳͈̜̳͂ͯ̿͠ ̱̗̠̘ͥͬl̨̼̦̣ͥͪ̈͆̒ͪͨ  
> ̢̥̙̭͚͇͙̪̹͌ͣ ̷̧̥͔͚̙̮̲ͧ͐s̢͓̼͒̎̎̽l̜̗̮̪̻̦̤̦̯͆̍͞͝ẽ̖͍͉̣̏ͨ̅̏ͨ͋͝ ̭̬ͮ̔ͥ͝p̯̘̰̗͇̠̜̾̅̓͊̍  
> ͈͎ͮͮ̏̒ͮ̎̉́͝W̗̱͈̪̫̥͍̟̤͑͑ͦ͌͑ ̡̟͍̮͎̬̖̥ͦͮ̂ͭ̾͘k̯̭͕̝̳͌̾͑̕͞E̛̦̹̲͇̭͋ͥ́ͪ́ ̧̟̞̣̟̞͈̹̌̈́͞ű̮̼̞̿̓̿̃̓̈́P̝͓̦̪̜͖ͩ̆́̒ͫ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t̙̻̖̠̺̬̗͚ͤ̈́͌̓̿͟͡h͎̥̻̟̓̉̓̎̍ͤͧ̈́͛̾ͯͮ̀͡͠ą̸̵̜͙̞̫̬̜̮͈̊̒̈̉ͨ͠ṋ̵̢̳̞̭̱̟͍̈́͋̑ͮ͐̌͗ͫ̌͊̒̐̾ͦ͆͂͑̚͟͡ ̸͎̬̝̝̹͓̲̟͎̥̀͌̑̇͂s̷̗͉̫̼͚̤̻͉͈̳̝̦̳͔̙̳ͬ͑ͪ̑ͨͬͧ̇ͧͫ̈ͅ ̎̿ͣ̓́̈̇ͦ͛̌ͩ̋͛ͣ̊͢҉͙̭̲̭̞̺̣̲̥̳̲̠ḟ̨͓̬̝͖̖͎͉͍̦̪̫̝̘͕̬̜̓̿́̇͗̽̒̏ͯ̑͆̍ͮ̈ͤ̇̚̕̕o͙̙̫̥͂̓͋̊̋ͦ́͂̊̊̎̍̅ͦͬ͑̑̔ͅr̍̏͑̊̑͛ͬ̊ͫ͐́̿ͯ̆̽̃̑̚͏̷̙̱̲̩͘ͅ ̊͋ͩ͒̿̌̏̔̏̍̔ͬ̚҉̝̳̞͇̜͚̱͚̝͙r͗̒̋͛͌͏̷̰͇͓͕̜̪̥͉̰̺̙̖̩̟ͅe͑͋ͩͦ̽̀̋̆͐̈́ͯ̉̽̀̉͑͏̪̺̩͎̰̤͓̻͚̘̱ ̶̷̠̲̼̱͍̬͇̞̩̘͖̞͈̘̙̒ͧ̓̏ͥ̀̇ͦ̑͗̾̌̌ͩ̕͠d̡̛̹͚̜͉̞̞͉͙̝̟̥̰̙̝̠̖̤̥̑̇̂ͨ̍̃ͮͭ̾ͯ͑͑̈́̃i̓̈́ͨͧͮͤ̓ͭ̀̊ͬ̎͘͏̪͖͈̞̮͙̳͝ͅͅn̶̴̷͍̜̠͎̦͉̯͕̥̠̖͔͖͛ͨ̒̈́͛͢g͍̫͕̳͈̫̯̼̝̲̓ͪͧͪͧ͒͑̿̈́̈́͌̑ͩͯ͢͟m̛͉͚͙̬̮͖̠̃̌͑̅̅̊ͫ̂͢͜͢ͅmͮ̊ͤ͛ͬ͜҉̴̩̩̞̗̺̘̪̬͉͢ ͫͮ̑̑ͬ͛́͑͜͠͏̷̬̖̘͚̰͙̞̫̯̝̮M̋͋̾ͭͤ̄͒̊̇ͫ͠҉̨͓̯͖̞m̵͍̮̦̭̲͇͔͓͒ͭ̌̐̽͒͐ͧ̈̒̔̃ͅ  
> h̢͕̗̞̙̦̬ͥ̓͒̈́ͅͅą̣̣͉̳̥̪̪̫̯̻̭̖͇͖̫̞͒̊ͣͭͤ͟ͅͅh̨̨̫̳̟̜͇͎͕̻͙ͭͩ͂̐̅͛͑̽́̈́̊͟͟aͮ̆̈͗̄̃̉̀ͯͣ̂҉̸̡̙̺̝͇̱̱͇̟̳̞̬̖͙̗̪͙̝h̅ͧ́̊̒͑ͧ̐̍̃ͫ̕҉̲̲͙̹͙̤͙a̡͎̬͓̦̦̱̳̮͎̫̩̻̪ͨ̓̔͐̓̅ͪ̔ͨ̿͞ͅh̸̷̡̛͍͇̜̥͍ͬͫͨͥ̅̋̇ͅả̴̟̞̮͖͔͙͕͍̝̼̣̗̱͉ͯ̉̌̾͐͐́͒̏̂͑̾͢H̘̠̞̰̼̰̝͉̦̼̭̃̆̆̔̈͂̏̋͒͋ͮ̉̚͘͟ͅͅĄ̢̧̗̱̜̣̦͍̦̯͔̝͇͚̙͉͗̿͋͐̈̽̾͡Ḩ̴͙̮̫̠̖͉̯͉͔̩̘͍̻̥͉̣͇̼͇̇̇ͪͭ͐̿̒̄ͩ̊ͪ̏A̶̻̰̫̺̩͓̭̯͕͔͙͇̬͎͆̔̈ͤ̀͊ͩ̉͛̚̕H̴̴̡͇̝̳̘͓̙̝̫̦̮͕̟ͪ̆ͪ̓́ͬͮͩ̒̚ͅͅͅȦ̴̧̩͈̯̬̔̍̋̐ͮ͑ͭ͂ͭͧ̀̉̚͘  
> ̺͇̬̠̙̲͍̘̪͕̱̯̫͍̖̹̅ͦͯ̽̋̾ͣͪ͊́X̑̿̿ͥ͏̩̖͉̠̭̹͖̮͖͙̪͇̱X̸̸̘̟̣̲̞͋͐̆ͧ̓͑͋̾̒̽ͣ̔̏̽̔̿ͤ̔͞ͅX̶̢̨͎̫͔̬̯̼̲̝̥̪͉͇͙̺̩̯̬̝̔̑͆ͮ̍͗̒̈́͑ͪX̡̛͙͖̖͔̜͈̟͈̖̬̬̣̞̿̍ͯ̾̎̎̀ͫͪ̋ͧ̒̎̒̂͢͢ͅX̤̫̣̮̭̥̯̻̘͖̤͚͇̬̺̰̥̱̱̅ͪ͆̋͋̃͂̊̇̒͊ͬͬ̄́ͣ̾̂͜X̵̰͔̮̗̙̝͔̮̭͉͍̥̝̹̪̔̈͆͒̓̐̓̉ͯ͌̎ͪ́̋̂̆ͣ̒̉̕͝X̧̜̣̺̻̥̳̯̼̣̳͖͇̥̤͑ͭ͂ͬ͆͊̑ͫ̉̿ͨͩ̎͑̒ͫ̓̒ͅX̨̡̡̛̺̰̳̰͔̥̤̘̜̊̀ͩͥ̚͜X̶̛̺̜̞̼̟̫̮̖͇͎͚̗̪ͣ̂̾͑͢͞͡ͅX̵̸̞̳͍͙̿̈͐̈́ͭ͒͑͛́̓̐̇X̯̻̮̠̥̟̙͔̖̰͕̭͙͚̲͑̒̽̋̄̋̌̀͒̋̿̐̚̕͢ͅ

     “J-Jack…?”

     The Irishman’s eyes snapped open, his heartbeat quickening ever so slightly at the voice. Hurriedly, he rose, giving his eyes a minute to focus on the figure illuminated by light in his doorway.

     “Mark?” (read: Merk) Jack looked bewildered. “What’re yeh doin’ in me room?”

     “A-ah… uh, yeah… I just… had to ch-check on you.”

     Jack blinked hard, head tilting. “Check on me? Why? Are yeh okay?” He intently studied the man, his eyes wide and fearful. Did something seem off? He couldn’t tell. His brain wasn’t even fucking working.

     Mark’s quiet cries sure did wake him up fully, though.

     “Mark? What’s goin’ on? Why’re yeh cryin’?” Jack jumped out of bed, the duvets falling with him. He scurried toward Mark, his hand resting on the man’s upper arm.

     Watery chocolate eyes on tear-stained olive skin locked on Jack, and the impact of just this image alone made him shudder.

     “I thought you’d left me.” The American whispered, his gaze empty and blank. It was like he was staring through Jack, and he barely suppressed another round of the shivers.

     “Lef’ yeh? Jaysis, Mark, c’mere…” He sighed, pulling Mark into a tight embrace. “What d’ya mean, lef’ yeh?” He inquired gently.

     “I dreamed that you died,” he whimpered, burrowing his face into the crook of Jack’s neck. “And I tr-tried to save you b-but my feet wouldn’t… m-move and it was so _hard_ an-and it’s all my fault, it’s all… m-my _fault,_ Sean. Fo-forgive me…”

     Jack listened sadly and helplessly to his muffled voice, feeling the tears from Mark’s face hit his neck. “Mark, it s’yer mind playin’ wit’ yeh, okay? ‘M fine, an’ always will be. I understan’, and whatever ‘appened in yer dream was what yer mind wanted ta show yeh. It wouldn’ let yeh move. I’m never goin’ anywhere, an’ if anythin’ like t’at ever ‘appened, ye’d save me. I know yeh would. Ye’re so brave…” He soothingly carded his fingers through Mark’s hair, hoping he was doing something.

     “I- I don’t believe you,” Mark cried quietly. “I’m not good enough. I-I’m worthless an-and stupid and I do-don’t know what t-to… do, and…”

     Mark let out another sob and Jack shushed him, kissing his head. “None o’ t’at s’true, ‘kay? Yeh’re my world, an’ t’at s’all t’ere is to it.” He murmured lovingly, not minding the lack of response. He understood- to a degree- how Mark felt. He just didn’t know the why.

     They stood there, Mark crying on Jack’s shoulder and Jack whispering words of comfort and kissing his head and they didn’t know how long they were.

     When Mark’s crying had subsided, leaving him with sniffles and gasps every now and again, the American pulled away.

     “Are yeh ready ta go back ta bed?” Jack asked, pointing at the door, which was still ajar.

     Mark looked sheepish, staring down at his feet and squirming a little, as if he had something to say but didn’t want to say it.

     “Yeh can be ‘onest wit’ me, Mark.”

     “I just thought… maybe I could… sleep in your bed with you…”

     His blue eyes widened, gentle and understanding, despite the pang of fear that spiked his heart. Mark would be cuddled close enough to feel and see all his insecurities.

     But how could he say no?

_Maybe you’ll just sleep apart._

_“_ O’ course yeh can, doof,” Jack cooed. “I’ll keep yer nigh’mares away, ‘kay?”  
     Mark smiled a little, walking with the Irishman over to the bed and climbing it. It started out with the two laying apart, on completely opposite sides of the bed, until Jack made a sly excuse.

     “Mark,” he muttered, receiving a grunt in response. “’M cold. Th’ cover s’not big enough fer bot’ o’ us.”

     “You want me to leave?”

     “No!" He replied a bit too quickly. "Can yeh jus’... scoot closer?”

     “Yeah…”

     And then they were a little bit closer, about two or three feet between them. Jack wondered what the fuck he’d say now, considering the fabric over the two of them fully covered them and had plenty of excess on either side. How could he get this dick to cuddle with him? At this point, he actually was chilly, and he didn’t really know why. Maybe he was tricking himself. You can think your way into anything, really. Emotions are an invention of the mind.

     He turned over totally inconspicuously, his back now to Mark’s back. Squeezing his eyes shut in silent prayer, he edged toward Mark, the action somehow performed inaudibly. He pushed his luck, worming his way closer and closer until a glance over his shoulder told him he was probably a centimeter away from the man. Scooting up on the pillow, he bent his legs up some, cuddling into the blankets and waiting.

     Jack was still, eyes closed as if he were asleep, despite the fact that he was lying awake in baited silence. He listened as the bed creaked, telling him the man was turning around. He half expect Mark to yell and scramble away or something, but it didn’t happen.

     Mark let out a quiet gasp of surprise, not speaking for a couple moments while he got over the initial shock. He shimmied over to Jack afterward, pressing his stomach to Jack’s back while his head ended up at the back of the Irishman’s neck. Without hesitation- Mark had _assumed_ Jack was asleep- he nestled his head into a comfortable position, top arm hugging Jack.

     Instinctively, the “little spoon” of the two lifted up his body, and he felt Mark’s arm slide under him.

     They were cuddling.

     This was very good.

     At least, Jack definitely thought so.

     He snuggled back into his… let’s not get into that, relishing the warmth and sort of intimacy that came with the action. It was just enough for him.

     Sure, it was a big change; he was used to sleeping alone in his bed, providing his own warmth and having the ability to lie horizontal across his bed if he damn well wanted to. Though, without a doubt he’d gone through the change of living alone to having Mark in his own home, and he’d made it this far.

     Now, the home was his bed.

     And Mark was in it.

 

* * *

 

     When Jack woke up, he was startled by the warmth against his body for a moment until he remembered that Mark had asked to sleep in his bed. He guessed that there had been no more nightmares, because the man didn’t seem to have been roused at all throughout the night.

     His initial thought was to pull away from Mark, but the security of the position and just generally how loved he felt drew him in. It made him not even want to stay awake, the soft breathing and quiet snores of the American lulling him back into sleep.

     Almost.

     Jack felt Mark stir and give a little groan. The man yawned, his arms momentarily tightening around Jack. Now, this was where he anticipated some sort of disgusted expression or a frantic scramble in the opposite direction.

     But Mark just sighed, once more nuzzling against Jack, his arm limp across Jack’s waist.

     They stayed this way, each knowing the other was awake. Jack ended up getting his phone and surfing Twitter and Tumblr while Mark hugged him and occasionally placed teasing kisses on the back of his neck.

_Don’t think of the fucking dream._

     In the end, Jack ended up pulling up his camera and taking a couple selfies of them; one for his Instagram and one to post on Twitter.

     He just captioned the Instagram picture with a heart, figuring it’d get a rise out of the shippers. On Twitter, though, he captioned it with, “This little fucker stole my bed last night :p” and tagged Mark in it.

     “You shit,” Mark laughed gently. “That’s gonna blow up, you know.”

     Jack giggled. “Let it.”

     “Really? Wouldn’t have expected that from you.” The American sighed, pulling Jack close and interlocking their legs.

     “W’at can I say? Yeh make me do crazy shite.”

     “Yeah?" Mark considered the statement momentarily before shrugging. "Yeah. I guess I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s̷̷̞̤͕̫̠̦̬͚̻͍̈ͤ̄ͭ̎̕͝t̷̡̻̗̦̩̲͓̯̝̝̫͉̖͉ͩ̈͂̾̈͆̎́̇ͪ̐͋̎ͩ̚͢ͅi̔́̄̈ͭ̿ͮ̒͠҉̶̵͚͍̱̼͎̹̟͕̲̩͙ḽ̸̛̟̖̟̟̮ͣ̅ͫͩͯ̏ͦ̒ͭ̈́̄͗͟͞l̷̲̣̹͙̩̟̙̤̲̣̠͎̩͗̾̈́͢͟͜ͅ ̶̪͕̮̩͉̲͍̹̼̗̲̗͕͈̩̹̃ͭ̃͛̄̎̑̃ͣ͊̕̕ͅh̷̄̂ͨ̈́̎ͪͦ͐ͫͨ͛̅͒̑ͩ͐ͦ͝͏̪̰̲͎͖̥̘̭͞ͅ ̵̹͈͓̩͎̩͓͉̊ͮ̓̾̉ͯ̄ͭͤ̐r̸̴̮̯͖̤̺̼̪̲̠̹͙ͬ́̎ͨͨ̍͆͒͆͐̆̈ͭ̎̃͠e̸̢̬̭̯̳̟̼͕̼̖̩̝̾̋̄͒̎͂͂̓̓̾̆̐̋͠  
> ̨͎͎͉̩̱̦̖͈̰̯̫̱̻͓̻̩͐ͯ̊̑͌̀͌̅ͪ̌ͮ̇̄̃̏͜͜d̷̖̲̻̩̤͓͖̪̎͑̅ͨ͑͋͐̎͂̊̏̓̌͟ǫ͈̠͔̼͔̗̟̾͛ͥ͐̐͂̽̏̈̽̄ͫ͜ ̶̡͙͙̙̗̪̻͚̲̯̯̯̦͉̗͚̩̦̏̂̄̐̈́ͤ̿̄ͮ͊ͨ͒̇͂̀̄͐̓̕͢ͅͅt̵͕̻̪͈͕̹͔̼͕̭͖̮̼̤͈̖̞ͪ̑̓̅́̔̇̑͜ ̸̢͙̖͕͇̳̙̜͙̘̏̎͋̇̓ͣ̕͞r̴̤͕͈̦̯̗̯̺̦̱̘̟̜̘̭̫̬̱̓̀ͯ̎͑ͮ̍ͪͮͪ̏͐ͅu̷̸̼͔̫͖̥̲̣͕̖͐̍ͤͭ͢͞͡ͅn̛͌ͧ͛̃ͬ̄̃̈́ͬ͗͒͏̡̳̳̤̼̞̯͈͉̱͇̰̹͔͙


	14. d̻̺̽͠ͅö͖̣́̓̋̌nͯͬ͑̿ͣ̍̐ͬ̚͜҉̟͔̟ẗ́ͩ͂͌̑̚҉̲͎ ̬̲̻͚̫̳͓̈͗g̫̜͈ͨ̒͐ơ̟̙̞̗͚͆̋ͩͬ͊,̴̲͕̝̝͎͚̲͓̇͗̋ͣ̚̚ ̸̟̩̲͕̗̤͋̒̓͋̂̐̾d̘̜͈͔̬̿̓̂̌ͪ͠o̷̞̘̠̝̊͂̾̿̾̉͑̑͗n̶̫̫͚͚̖͓ͩͤ̂̔͠t̘͚̥̻̬̥͎͌́ͫͣͯ͐ͮ ͖͖͈̬̫̺͚͌̐͋̇͞g̵̸̯̞̫͖͈̩͊ͦͥ̇̒̀͛͠ơ̫̲̭͇̦̠ͨ̾ͭͨ̅͡

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> g͚̠̭͙̐ͨ̌ͦͯ̂̚͝ó̷̗͈̦̹̹̀͆͢ ̹̥͙͔̹̭̖̈̌͛ͤ͂ͅȁ̶̙̙̦̯̦͚̗̬̈́ͣ̓ͪẃ̛͔̺̻̣̓ͥ̒̓̚͜ ̹̙̼͓ͧ͂̿̍̍͊͜yͨͮ͒͑̅̒͘͏̱  
> ̛̞̗͚̱̩̻͖̞̋̾͊̄̏ͨd̟̺̖̰͔ͪ̔ͮ̓͋I̸̝̲͆͒ȅ̷̤̘ͧͤ̄̽̄̾ ̛̜̝͚̩̱̠̅̑̕d̗̭̭͍͖͍̟͚̅ͮͧ̆̽̒͑̐̕͟į̖͙̤̮̹͉̍̒e̦̘͉̭̠̋͡ ̞̹̱̯͓͌d̖̗̪͉̂ͦͫ̒̍ͣ͒i̶̥̟̬̐̃̄̆́̍̓̚͡ͅẺ̡̹̳̥͎̞̘́̔ͯ̍̂̏̑͞ ̬̠̑ͤ̽̃̍̈́̐͋͟
> 
> h̵̡̰̫̜͖̞̄̂ͪ͊́͒̽ͭ͐͊̌̑͢͢͟h̤̭̰̞͉̙̗̻͚̊͒͌̉̊ͦͯ̓̇̈́ͥ̈̈́̇͌͂̏̽͜͡ͅa̵̢̧̠̭̦͓̻̙͎̹̖̳͈͓̦͍͇̱̻̟̅̅ͥ̓̿͆̍̇̏̐̑͛͛̈́̉ͯ̏h̙̣͉̳̮̻͍̝̥̬͉̖ͣ̎́͆ͣ͠͠ͅͅHͭ͛̆͐̄̔̎͊̒́ͤ̃͌͊͐̽͏͏͕̘̖̺̭͔̦̺̲̮̣̪͈̹̱̼h̞̻̳̯͙̠̬̭͖͔͇͎͗́̔̑͋̈̃̍ͬ̿̋͋̿̄́ͤ̈́̽ạ̡̘͓̤̘ͬ͑ͪ͒̐͑̍̔̈́͊͛͒͑̋ͮ͋̔͐h̸̷̶̨̡͕̫̻̩̟̮̪̰͓̫̝͙̩̹͚͉̯͌ͭͥͧ̅ͦ̈̊ͥ̿ä̃̐҉̶̻͚͉͍̺͇̻̜̯͚͖̬̘͚̲̫͟͞͞H̃̾ͮͯͫ̍ͮ̐͑̏͒̎͏̨̛̲̥̳͇̣͉͝ͅȦ̷̵̘͇͈̖̘̪͈͍̟̿̍̒͑͌̓̃́̓ͣ͑̒͡ͅĤ̴̘̘̦͈̹̖̘͍̬͕̩̟̣͕̓͐̔ͪ̀̾͢Aͯ͋͌́ͥ̋͑̾͗͌҉̰͙̳̮̜̰͉̦̦H̿͐͒̅̌ͦ͐͒̎ͥ҉͖̘͕̺̲͈͍̱͈̘̖͉͓̹̪  
> ̸̶̨̻̻̞̱̘̼͙͉̥͚̬̺͈̣̘̯͚̯́̅̐ͧͯ͆̽̒ͮ̋̂̈̿̾̍̅̔̚͢͢ ̢̱̙̠̾̄͌̓̍̿ͪͧ̈́̅̄͊ͧ͒ḫ̵̮̝̮̯̣͉̞͔͕̤̖̭̮̽͒͗̌ͪͯ̃ͮ̽́ͩ́͝h̡͓̬̻͚̪͕͖̜͉̘͍̥ͧ͛ͨ͋̾͢ͅh̴̛͚͉̜̮̹̪͓͖̭͎̟̖̝̞͔͙͎̿ͤ͛̽̒͂͗̿ͧ̏̇́͊̾̔ͤͬ̓ͅͅh̸̷̴̸̜̭̻̟̩̤͕̣̜̙ͮͤͬ̄ͩ͗͗̋̽͑̍̅̍̃̆ͨ͗̓h͕̝͖̮͕̼͍̗̭͐̌̍̽͒̉̂̋͂̿̎̏̕̕͢ͅh̨̡͉͓̭̜̤͔̳͛ͮ̊ͬ̔͞h̘͈̺̯͎̭͈͎̰ͫͦ̓ͪ̈́̑͞͠͞ͅh̡̼͖̜̺̹͚̙̤͇̺̥ͮͧ̇ͧ̔͐ͭ̉ͮ͆̕͡ͅh̶̸̤̬̯̫͇͖̣ͯ͑ͬ͐ͮ͂͝ͅh͔̼̼̤̝̖̱̫̗͇͖̺͕͍̠̲̫̗͍ͣ̾̊͌̇͒̐ͦ̂ͨ̾ͦ͘ḩ̩̤̠̩̪̳͓̜̦͚̞̠̻̱̫̖͛̒ͮ̒͠͠h̬͙̺̠̺̙̯͕̯̺͖̹̬̬̠͚̗͙̩͛͆̈̉̊͘͟͟͞h̸̡̧̥̳̞̮̪͖̯̺̥͔̲͎͙̻ͦ̈́ͫ͆ͧ͌ͭ́h̨͖͙͖̭͖̗̩͈̩̠̬̪̺̉͆ͦͪ͌ͧͣ̏̃͠ͅḣ̴̸̶̛͉͓̜̲̭̅͆͌̑̓̿͒ͦ̌ͪͩ͊͊͆̅ͮ͡ͅh̼͎͇͖̺̣̱̱̠̮͔̻̫͔̊͆͊̂̑̾̎͌ͪ͂̏̚̚̕͢ḧ̨̛̖̻̼̬̟̫̙̮̗̠̙́́̐̃͝ͅh̡̝̬͚̞̪̩̗͕̦͕̱̭ͨ̅͋̿̈͋͗̋̽̀̑̑͆͂ͯ̓̾ͨ̐ͅh̸̥̬̞̻͈̳͉̅̍ͩͬ̿̆ͥ̋̚͜͡͞͠

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s̨̨̛ͧ̏̈́͆̏ͦͨͬ̅͆̈́̓̈́͛̕҉̠̥̝͕͖̺͚̻͈ͅm̶̸͓̤̖̱̭̻̥̠͓̱͚͖̪̠͉͍̖ͣͨ̒̿͟͢ĭ̝͓̞̯̩͍͕ͣ̐̓͊̏̀ͮͩ̋̑ͯ̌ͧ͡͝͠͡l̷̵̙͚͚̜̰̳̠̺̖̺̞̩̑̐ͣ̉̐́͐̑̊ͩ̽̚͞ė̡͈̞͎͇ͥͤ̔̉ͣ̌̂̃ͦ̊̈́ͥ̔̃̾͗ͣ͝ ̴̞̬̱͉̈͒ͮ́͆͆́͗͡  
> ̴̆ͦ́̋̽̒ͫ̓̚̕҉̵̧̲̜͙͈̮̠̭ͅi̵̵̬̙̩̳͈̗̘͚͈̤̫̩̜͎̝͈̮̠͛̾̓͋ͩ̍̆̈́͊͗̑̍̑͂̄ͪţ̲͚̦̳̜͉̞̥̣̳̺͔̗͇̥̻̱̽̊ͦ̉͑ͫ̊̽̂̃ͥͣͧ̐̌ͧ̒̚̕͢ ̧̨̙͔̞̟̙͎͔ͥ́̓̐̋ͦ̃͒ͨ̈́̏̋̅̎̇͞͡͡l̸̨̡̙̤̳͖͓͙͔͖̗̭̠ͦ̾̈́ͯ͗̆͒̉̅̅͞o̸̸̬͔͓͍̎ͩ̂͗ͤ͗̈́̍̔ͫ̓ͥ̓̀ͭ͗̐͟ ̨̙͕̲͖̗͈͔̠͙̤̝̲̩̱̻̞͓̼ͣ̂ͯ̅̌̚͞͝k̩͚͍̯̝̦͍̟͙͚̰͕͙̜̖̗̱͎̤̈͒ͣͭ͆̓̈́͗ͪ̍ͨ̀̇͛̽̚̚̕ş̣̘̙͈̣̞̫̮͒̂ͫ̆̈́̏͆ͧ̆ͮ͑ͦͨͧ̋͠ ̵̵̫͓̞̟̳̖̩̗̞̯̲̩͈͉͂̇ͥ̂́͆͆̑͋̅̾͐̚͠g̨̼̹̻̥ͭͣ̇̎ͥͨ̽̐̑̏̉͛ͥ̎̚͜ ̵̴̲̼̯͇̹̘̦̱͔̥̯̪̱̳̻̣͛̈̄̀ͬͤ̆ͦ̕͞ͅó̴̡͔̹͖͉̥̯͍ͪ̎̓̍̍̔͛́ḑ̸̶ͯ̇͑̈͆̋ͮ͌̈́͡͏̪̩̪̙ ͣ͑ͧ̔͛͛̑ͨ͋҉̘̤̘͙̮͇̹͙̙̯͝ͅŏ̵̶̴̧̬͉̪̹͖̩̹̭͓̼͔͖̲̥͖̫̭̲̄ͨͮͨ̎ͨ͛͊͊ͣ̐͗̈͛̉̚̕n̸̡̛̫͚͇̲̙̫͎̤̊͋ͮ̒͆ͪ̎̇̒̕͜ ̩̗̰̫̬̹͇̝̜̟̪̙̈́͑̈͆̎̽ͭ̑͊̌̎y̦̝̳̙̞̠̬̰̲̫̯̏ͪ̽ͥ̎ͬ̈̀̇ͫ̍̒ͭ͆e̡̨̖̙͓̜̜̺͖͔̣̙̦ͦ̉̅͟͜h̵̹̦͖̦̗͉̠̙̼̬͙͍́ͬ̔ͬ̏͂͒̊̈́̅͛ͩ̂͆ͪ
> 
>  
> 
> d̵̨̧̳̜͇̺̉͂̅̈́͜ͅO̧̤̖͕̠ͣ̅ͬ͗̽́̆ͤ̈́͆̎̐̕n̵̡̛̛͕̲̣̗͖̬̫̮̻̅͆̏ͯͦ͂ͯ̌̄͆̍ͮ͘t͖̤̞̟͖̫̦͎̗͚̰̯̱̲̮͉ͨ̒̄́̋͌̚̕͜ ̤̻̻͖͔̘̜̩̈͂̐͛̽͗̋͐͑ͭ͛̅ͨ͊̎̆̄͘ͅm̯̫̗͍̟͚̭͚͖ͦ̒ͤ̊͐ͪ͒ͨ̈̓̽̃ͬͬͫ͟͜A̵̤̮̲͈͔̦̭̼̹̦͉̳̓̐͆ͤḰ̸̘̭͚͇͍͙͚̲͓̫̱ͪ͒͡e͑͗ͫ͑ͭ͋͏̼̻̯̖̥̝͖̙͓͚̩̣̲̕͢͝ ̷̶̴̤͔͇̯͚̲̩͉̯̖̝̐ͬͥ̈̀ͬ͑̍͌̚͡m̑̎̔ͦ̿̎̒͊̑͌̑̒͏͏͝҉͓̠̟̩̲̙e̸̜̦̗̰̼̰̻͖͙ͯ͛̓ͮ̉̒̌͢͟͠ ̧̡̱͉̭̱͗̇̄ͮͫ̀͊ͣ͊͒͊͘͠C̶̨̢͙͎̮̤͕͚̹̩͙̮̞̱̗͙̝̪͍ͯͯ̀͐̄̽̌ͯ͆͛ͅǒ̇͋̆͂̀ͯͪ̂͝҉͏̰͎̰̙̜̦̣̫͉͎̦ ̶̨̭̘̦͍̲̳̱͊͋ͩ́ͪ̈͆̒́̑͋ͭ͊̐̾͜ẹ̮̫̘̥̭̩͕̦̗̺̮͙̫͇͖̾̇ͣͭ̂̆ͨͮ̓͌ͬͮ̿̈͌͢ ̷̢̙̖̹̖̥̭ͩͬͩ͢͟į̡̰̠̖̖̗̺̱̀̄̅ͮ̊͋̊̓̆̄ͨ̊͂̓̆͝ǹ̴̴̒͌͋̒͏̹̫̗̩̱̮̝͖͚̦̭͕̫̲̫ ̧͕̬̭͔̟͊̀̅͂ͥ͑ͧ̆ͫͩ͟͠ț̵̷̠̹̱̞̣̣͙͎͇̜̝͍̪͈ͫͪ́͌ͯ̇ͪ̽̂ ̟͓͈̘͎ͥ̂̇̓̈̂͐ͯ͐͢͞e̖̙͈̙̰̬ͥ̇̐ͩ̈̾ͮ̇̉̓̆͒͆̅̇̓̇͂̐͟͝͞͠r̮͕̟͚̣̞̝͉̞̝̝͎̰̪̤̺ͬͬ̌̔͆͂̄̉̃ͭ͆ͨ̉͜͡Ě̶̋͐͋̔͋ͨ͊̊ͬ̃͛̈ͥ̚̕͟͝͏͚̫͍̯ ͉͖̪̳̣̞̬̱̦̠̩̱̞͎̮̞̌͗ͣ̈́̄̎ͩ̋̂ͣ͗̆̑̃ͩ͝͞  
> ̶ͭͧ̐ͬ̊̄̊͒ͨ̃͌̿ͮ̉̍̚͏͖͓͖͕̪̮͖͉̳̬̲͉͇ͅu̶̸͔͙̙̰̟͙͈̮͖̹̟̰͖͖̩ͤ̏͋̾͋̿͋ͮ̓ͬ͊ͣͭ͜n̬̮̻̙̠͖̩͈͖̮̖̖̼̦̼̳̑̇͋̃͛͋͆͞͝ͅȁ̸͋̑̒ͯ͐̌̆ͪͮ͂͐͊͂̎ͩ͢͡͏̪̱̺̜͓͉f̱̦̥͙͉̙̼̬̱̦̤̮͔̄́̔̉̏̽̀ͨ̾ͨ͑̾ͤͦ̒͗͝r̄ͯͮ͌͆̋̌̃̑͌̏͐͏̸̷͙͔͈͓̣̪̩̠̰̜̝̻̟̖͙͢͠à̶̶̧͚̟̼̺̻̟̼̱̮̮̖̩̱͒̉̾̓̈́̒̏͡͝ͅ ̵̭̣̥͉̣̠̹̼̹̮͉̲͎̥̦̺͗͊ͭ̃͋̉̒͗ͦͪ̎̊ͮ̐ͨ̽̅ͦ̍͟d̹̭͎̦̻̦̣͎͚̪̦ͣ͑͆ͤ̆̃́͒ͧ̄̕͘͜͞͡.̧̟͚͖̯̜͖̱̦̼̗̱̞̘̭̯̲̈͂͊͆ͯ͋͒͘͟ ́̾ͤͭ͛̾̃̿̇ͯ̐͊ͤ́̓̈́ͮ̎͘͏̷̸̣͖͇̪͈͕̲͓̪͚͉̞̠̥͖̖͞ͅ ̛̼̘̲̞͉̥̺͔̦͕̮̖͚͚͉͎̹͆̈́͛ͦ̿ͮ ̡̮̲̞̻̬̰͍̗̙͂̔̿̏̈̀́ͣ̆̎͛̔ͮͩͭ̇͋̇͋͞͞ ͇̻̳̲͖̲̓́ͨ̊͆̆͆͑̀̍̚͘̕͢ͅ ̵͖̥̲̪͇̰̱̝͉̻͓ͤͧ̐͑̾̋̍̌̈ͧ͂͋̎͘͡͡ ͐̈͌̅ͤͨ͒͛̊ͤ̇ͮ͐ͤͥ͏͓̥̣̯͟͝ ̨͇̖̩̣͉͇̘̭̼̣̟̖͑͊́̐͒͊ͦ͂͜ ̈́́ͫ́ͭͨ̆ͤ̔ͫ̅̌͂͋̍̒ͯ̃̚҉͏̼̤̲̖ ̴̧̛̻̜͈̥̭̠͎̟̮̻̹̰̣̯̝̜͓̖̻͑̉͐̚͜͡ ̢̢̇̄̓̎͂̈́̆̈́ͬ̿̉̍̚̚͝҉̡̙̖͖͚̺͎̰̣̖̯̹̳̘̱h̡̢ͣͥ́̽ͨͣ̚͟͏̘̯͍͎͓̠͔͎̦̜ͅhͦ͒̓ͥ͒ͬ̎̓ͨͤ͏҉͘҉̼̗̲͈͈͓̤̳͍̠̞͈̳͇̼a̛͎͖̠̘̟̖̠͎̫͈̲̜ͮ̂̓͐̈́̅ͩ͋̀h̶̤̘̜̦̭̥͎̺͇̱̲ͫͧ̓̃̿̇ͭͤ̒̚͢͝á̵̧̟̯͙̙̺͍̣͕ͦ̎̑ͫ̐͑̌̉ͨ̓̑̈͟h̲̬̻̰͉͔͇̬̼͈̭̮͉͇ͣ͒̓ͦ̇ͦͦ̅̀͌̈́ͧ̉̄͢á̸̷̅̊̓͐̈̆ͯ̓ͯ̿ͣͯͤ͑̍͠͏͍͓͕͈̠͕̲̗ͅh̥͈͖̻̟̳̬̜̗̗͈̥͇̭̝̲̩́̎͒̅ͯͪͫ͌̾͌̿ͮ̅͑͑ͣa̴̷̬͔̦̹̪͉̞͇̺̘͔̪̦͛̅ͧ̈́ͦ͊̀̊̈́ͯͭͅh̶̛̰͉̞͖ͫ͌̂̓̓ͮ͢͝a̫͉̫̠̩̙̜͔͚̰̙͓͙̞̙̙̬͖̟ͤ̐̓͋̌͑̌ͬ͢͞

     “’M sorry, Mark,” Jack wiggled away from the American reluctantly. “I’ve gotta record somethin’ t’day. No more food fer yeh if I don’.” He laughed lightly.

     Mark glanced away, giving a forced chuckle before sitting up. “I’ll do a vlog or something. I really should do a real-time sort of thing.”

     Jack nodded, hopping out of bed. “D’ya need the shower?”

     The raven-haired man rolled out of bed on the opposite side. “Uh… no. Just shower, okay? I’ll see you when you get out.” He ran a hand through his hair, retrieving his bag to hunt for clothes for the day. Almost silently, he let out a sigh.

     Jack was put off a little by the strange behavior. “Um, okay… I’ll be a while, t’ough, ‘cause sometimes I like ta jus’ stay in ‘til the water s’cold. Yeh sure yeh’ll be okay?”

     “I’ll be just fine.”

     The Irishman blinked and nodded, gathering up some clothes to throw on once he got out so he didn’t walk out of the bathroom wearing just a towel.

     He showered in a careless fashion, like he normally would. He washed himself and his hair and then just kind of soaked for a while. The feeling of water running down his body and the rhythmic sound of it hitting the shower’s bottom being therapeutic to him.

     The experience might’ve been soothing on some counts, but he still couldn’t shake off his concern for Mark. It stayed coiled inside his stomach, worming its way into his gut and filling his stomach until it was almost impossible to take. He kept trying to tell himself that there was nothing to worry about, that Mark was probably just tired, and that the man “acting strange” was only a figment of his paranoid imagination.

     But then there was the part of him that screamed, what if it isn’t? What if the bundle of anxiety in his stomach was there for a reason? All these what ifs, wrapped together by one last one: What if Mark was pushing him away?

     That’s when the shower stopped being salubrious for him.

     In his haste, he nearly left the water on, hardly remembering to shut it off as he got out. Naturally, he just barely kept his balance.

     Not bothering with his clothes, he fiddled for a towel, wrapping it carefully but speedily around his waist. Jack picked his way across his bathroom floor, heedful of any puddled water this time around. Yanking the door open, he didn’t even give a damn anymore about slipping. Something felt _wrong,_ and by God, he’d figure it out if it was the _last thing he did._

     “Mark?” He yelled, anticipating the worst as he peeked into doors when he passed them. “Mark, where are yeh? T’is isn’t funny.”

     After a while, he’d checked every single spot Mark could’ve possibly been, ending his search in the living room.

     Idly, his eyes wondered to the door. His hands anxiously covered his mouth at the sight of a note taped there.

     As if approaching a bomb he was unsure was ticking or not, he tiptoed over to the door, squeezing his eyes shut. He held out a hand to ensure he didn’t faceplant into the door.

     The wood brushing against his pale hand made him flinch, and he forced himself to open his eyes, a hand still hovering over his mouth as he read the messy note

 

_‘_ _Sean,_

_I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to stay so long. I never meant to fall in love with my best friend. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry that you ever once had to put up with me and I’m sorry for living. I’m sorry._

_I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I just… can’t stay here any longer. I don’t belong here and if you knew everything you wouldn’t want me anymore, Sean. I know you wouldn’t and that hurts. It hurts to love you because I want to love you, I do, but I’m not good enough. I never will be. Maybe that’s what hurts more than anything. I want to love you but I don’t deserve that. You should have someone better. Someone worth your time. I’m sorry I’ve taken so much of it already._

_By the time you read this, I’ll already be gone. At an airport or something. Anywhere I can get to so that you don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m sorry for everything. You never have to see me again, and I know you don’t want to. Just forget about me, okay? I dunno why you haven’t already. You’re really something special, and that’s what makes this so hard._

_This is all for you, Jackaboy. It’s what’s best for you._

_I’ll miss your pretty blue eyes and adorable Irish accent, and the way you giggle, and how jealous and protective you are. I’ll miss it all, I promise. I just can’t compare and I can’t pretend that I possibly ever could._

_You’re everything, Sean. I mean that. I everything about you is all I could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s just selfish, isn’t it? Love is selfish. You don’t need to pity me anymore. I’m sorry I’m selfish and not good enough. If I was this wouldn’t hurt so badly, but I guess things turn out in certain ways, huh?_

_Don’t hate me too much. I could never hate you, no matter how hard I tried, but again, that’s what makes this so painful._ _No one could possibly hate you. You’re so bubbly and caring and fun to be around. I love it._ ~~_I love you._ ~~ _I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. What am I writing? Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know._

_If I was worth anything maybe I could even ask you to not miss me._

_I hope you know how sorry I am.’_

 

     Jack took a second to let his mouth hang open at what he’d just read.

     Mark had left. ‘ _At an airport or something.’_ Or something? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Oh God. Was Mark…? All the sorries, asking Jack to forget about him (an impossible feat, by the way), saying he’d be gone, that things turn out in certain ways, that he couldn’t stay ‘here’ any longer.

     Did he mean ‘here’ like Jack’s home?

_Please mean it like that, Mark. Please mean it like that._

     Frantically, he pulled out his phone, dialing Mark’s number as he ran around his house looking for something to throw on. He wouldn’t have put anything on if it wasn’t frowned upon to run around in public with only a towel.

     His call wasn’t picked up, despite ringing until the voicemail tone sounded. “Mark, where’d yeh go? ‘M worried fockin’ sick, Mark, please pick up th’phone. ‘M gonna keep callin’ ‘til yeh do. I can’t let yeh leave. Are yeh already gone? Oh Jaysis, please don’ be gone. Wait fer me. ‘M goin’ t’find yeh if it’s th’ last thing I do ‘cause I l-”

     He stopped. He was out of time for his voicemail.

     Fuck.

     While he dialed again, he pulled on a short, hunting for his house key and running to the door. He looked down at his shirt. He’d put it on fucking backwards.

     Fuck it. He didn’t give a shit.

     Jack slammed his door behind him, locking it and pausing on the sidewalk. He racked his brain, trying to remember where the nearest airport was.

     Gatwick, right? That was the nearest one… Yeah. It had to be. It definitely was. Mark would be at Gatwick Airport because it wasn’t far from here at all.

     The logical thing to do would be to call an Uber, or hail a cab, but Jack didn’t have time to wait for that shit. So he ran, his shirt still backward and his phone held to his ear while he blurted out generally the same message from before. Needless to say, he got multiple confused stares and strange glances, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

     He was at the airport before he knew it. It was as if he was on autopilot; after all, he’d visited this very airport multiple times already.

     Desperately, he gazed around, realizing that he hadn’t really thought this through. Mark could be _anywhere._ This damn place wasn’t exactly small. He refused to let the tidal wave of anxiety and hopelessness threatening to spill over knock him down.

     It took forever. Like, an hour at least. But he’d done it. He’d found Mark.

     He was sick and tired of looking when he’d seen the raven haired and olive skinned figure, wearing jeans and one of his probably-two-sizes-too-small muscle shirts. Getting past the swooning of how, you know, _hot_ this stranger was, he pushed past his fatigue and momentarily blind attraction and realized this man was quite familiar.

     In fact, this man was Mark, and his plane was currently boarding.

     While he ran toward his best friend, shoving through the throngs of people- oh shit, did he just run over a four-year-old-, he muttered curses under his breath.

     “Shite, fockin’, oh God, fock, Mark, don’! Please! If yeh love me, don’ get on t’at plane!” He was yelling now, not caring that people were looking at him, not caring that he was running, and pushing and trampling people.

     Mark turned around for a moment, his eyes wide and misty as he stared at Jack. He looked torn, hand clutching his baggage as he looked back. “Don’t make me do that, Sean. Don’t do that to me."

     The Irishman stopped, a couple yards away from him. “Mark… Please… Don’ go. I dunno what’ll ‘appen ta me. Please.”

     And the man smiled sadly, shaking his head. “It’s all an invention of your mind, Jack. You don’t need me. You’re-”

     He was cut off by Jack striding up to him definitively and clutching him by the collar of his shirt and staring into his eyes for a split moment.

     Jack barely hesitated, pulling Mark down to him so that their lips connected for the second time. His eyes closed, and a couple seconds later, Mark was kissing him back, arms bent cautiously as if he might want to do something. The kiss was tender, and gentle. Some desperation from Jack’s side, if anything, but only because _God,_ this man couldn’t leave him alone. He might go insane with his want if he did.

     The spark of _right_ from their first kiss had stuck around, making Jack tingle at first until it gradually subsided to a dull, yet electrifying, buzz.

     He relished it. He relished Mark’s warmth, and how safe it was when he was trapped in his lips. He relished the ringing in his ears and he just wanted it _all._ He wanted to be able to call Mark his.

     The only reason Jack pulled away was because they’d been kind of/slightly/a _little_ bit making out in the middle of a crowded as _fuck_ airport.

     Maybe staring into those endless chocolate pools would settle for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h̵̡̰̫̜͖̞̄̂ͪ͊́͒̽ͭ͐͊̌̑͢͢͟h̤̭̰̞͉̙̗̻͚̊͒͌̉̊ͦͯ̓̇̈́ͥ̈̈́̇͌͂̏̽͜͡ͅa̵̢̧̠̭̦͓̻̙͎̹̖̳͈͓̦͍͇̱̻̟̅̅ͥ̓̿͆̍̇̏̐̑͛͛̈́̉ͯ̏h̙̣͉̳̮̻͍̝̥̬͉̖ͣ̎́͆ͣ͠͠ͅͅHͭ͛̆͐̄̔̎͊̒́ͤ̃͌͊͐̽͏͏͕̘̖̺̭͔̦̺̲̮̣̪͈̹̱̼h̞̻̳̯͙̠̬̭͖͔͇͎͗́̔̑͋̈̃̍ͬ̿̋͋̿̄́ͤ̈́̽ạ̡̘͓̤̘ͬ͑ͪ͒̐͑̍̔̈́͊͛͒͑̋ͮ͋̔͐h̸̷̶̨̡͕̫̻̩̟̮̪̰͓̫̝͙̩̹͚͉̯͌ͭͥͧ̅ͦ̈̊ͥ̿ä̃̐҉̶̻͚͉͍̺͇̻̜̯͚͖̬̘͚̲̫͟͞͞H̃̾ͮͯͫ̍ͮ̐͑̏͒̎͏̨̛̲̥̳͇̣͉͝ͅȦ̷̵̘͇͈̖̘̪͈͍̟̿̍̒͑͌̓̃́̓ͣ͑̒͡ͅĤ̴̘̘̦͈̹̖̘͍̬͕̩̟̣͕̓͐̔ͪ̀̾͢Aͯ͋͌́ͥ̋͑̾͗͌҉̰͙̳̮̜̰͉̦̦H̿͐͒̅̌ͦ͐͒̎ͥ҉͖̘͕̺̲͈͍̱͈̘̖͉͓̹̪  
> ̸̶̨̻̻̞̱̘̼͙͉̥͚̬̺͈̣̘̯͚̯́̅̐ͧͯ͆̽̒ͮ̋̂̈̿̾̍̅̔̚͢͢ ̢̱̙̠̾̄͌̓̍̿ͪͧ̈́̅̄͊ͧ͒ḫ̵̮̝̮̯̣͉̞͔͕̤̖̭̮̽͒͗̌ͪͯ̃ͮ̽́ͩ́͝h̡͓̬̻͚̪͕͖̜͉̘͍̥ͧ͛ͨ͋̾͢ͅh̴̛͚͉̜̮̹̪͓͖̭͎̟̖̝̞͔͙͎̿ͤ͛̽̒͂͗̿ͧ̏̇́͊̾̔ͤͬ̓ͅͅh̸̷̴̸̜̭̻̟̩̤͕̣̜̙ͮͤͬ̄ͩ͗͗̋̽͑̍̅̍̃̆ͨ͗̓h͕̝͖̮͕̼͍̗̭͐̌̍̽͒̉̂̋͂̿̎̏̕̕͢ͅh̨̡͉͓̭̜̤͔̳͛ͮ̊ͬ̔͞h̘͈̺̯͎̭͈͎̰ͫͦ̓ͪ̈́̑͞͠͞ͅh̡̼͖̜̺̹͚̙̤͇̺̥ͮͧ̇ͧ̔͐ͭ̉ͮ͆̕͡ͅh̶̸̤̬̯̫͇͖̣ͯ͑ͬ͐ͮ͂͝ͅh͔̼̼̤̝̖̱̫̗͇͖̺͕͍̠̲̫̗͍ͣ̾̊͌̇͒̐ͦ̂ͨ̾ͦ͘ḩ̩̤̠̩̪̳͓̜̦͚̞̠̻̱̫̖͛̒ͮ̒͠͠h̬͙̺̠̺̙̯͕̯̺͖̹̬̬̠͚̗͙̩͛͆̈̉̊͘͟͟͞h̸̡̧̥̳̞̮̪͖̯̺̥͔̲͎͙̻ͦ̈́ͫ͆ͧ͌ͭ́h̨͖͙͖̭͖̗̩͈̩̠̬̪̺̉͆ͦͪ͌ͧͣ̏̃͠ͅḣ̴̸̶̛͉͓̜̲̭̅͆͌̑̓̿͒ͦ̌ͪͩ͊͊͆̅ͮ͡ͅh̼͎͇͖̺̣̱̱̠̮͔̻̫͔̊͆͊̂̑̾̎͌ͪ͂̏̚̚̕͢ḧ̨̛̖̻̼̬̟̫̙̮̗̠̙́́̐̃͝ͅh̡̝̬͚̞̪̩̗͕̦͕̱̭ͨ̅͋̿̈͋͗̋̽̀̑̑͆͂ͯ̓̾ͨ̐ͅh̸̥̬̞̻͈̳̅̍ͩͬ̿̆ͥ̋̚͜͡͞͠ help  
>  let me go  
>  jeelo please  
> ̴̢̢̺̫̼̭̏̈́ͣ͑̎̃̈̆͑̏̇̔͒̆ ̧̘̤̳̤͕͚̙̲̲̳̦̱̥̯̼̏̽̐̀̋̕͢͢ ̋̊ͬ͌̏̐ͬ̃̈̍͛ͤ҉̴̙̤̺͚͙̬͇̘ ̡̝̦̱̳̹͎̟̭̪ͧ̐͌ͩ͌͌ͨ̂̄̎ͩ̎͋͝ ̂ͭ̃ͥ̂̾͂̏ͧͭ҉͏҉̲̞̦̟̙̩͜ ̢̺̯͙͚ͬͨ̂̈́̕͡ ̴̺͎̫̟͇̟͔̲̻̰̖͚̰̣͈ͧͧ̌ͤ͌̈ͪͧ̂̄̾͟͞ ̶̴̵̛̠̬̦͉̦̺̞͖̟̐͆̀̂ͫ̾͋̽̕ ́̊̓̿̌͋̓ͨ̉̑̒҉͜҉̞͈̳̰̖͙̭͇͇̻̳͔̣͖̳̥͇ ̷̯͓̭̻͚̲̇̿͋̐ͯͫ́̂ͧ͊̓ͪ͂͑̄̕ ͒ͫ̒̅̓̓ͭ̀̓ͮ̉̚͠҉̸̶̠͎̬̳͈̝̕ ̷̛̞̯͙̱͔͖̲̞ͩ̂̄ͪ̐̉͠ͅ ̛̹̫̹̭͇̲̮̪̖̜̖̘̍̒̊ͨ͐̆͗͋̾̋̂̐̉͂̚͢͠͝ ̬͕͚͈̘̯͓̳̫͍̇̍̓͂̂ͧ̏ͥͯ̇͂̈̓̈́͜͠ ̥͕̻͎̩̥̼̪̖̤̥͈͕̠̥͔̳͂ͧ̍ͥ̎͋͛̃̓ͣ̊ͦͫ̈́ͨ̂̀͐̃͠͞͞ ̡̨͖̼̞͖̘̠̰͇͎̗̜̥̱ͦͬͬ͑̐͜ͅ ̸͔̲̮̮̠̖̜̥̑̌͒̀̍ͭ̈́ͭ̿̋͛ͨ͜͝͡ ̵̶̨͎̹͎̬ͨͯ͆̾̊̓̓ͨ͐͂ͪͫ̔̿̒̅̂͐͊͞ͅ ̸̵̸̭̤͙̮̒̉̏̓̾ͯ͒̾͌͊̽̍́ͬ̄͢͡ ̸̖͖͎͈̗͇͈͚̯̣̘͉̤̬͇͉̏ͯ͊̾ͯ̉͌͞ͅ ̸͓͈̟̩̘͇̠̰̹̣͉̠͋̓̿ͫ͂͐̅̏̊̑̿̅̃̒ͬ̽̄͢ͅ ̴̮͈͓̼͔͔̥̔̐ͪ̿͡ ̸̧̯̦̥̪̙̞͉͔͔̰̦̦̳̰̮̼̖͚̇͊͋̓͑̆̒̔ͦ̅͟͢ ͓̱̙̝̯̫̤̬̖̯̮̹̳̋͆ͬ͊͘͝ͅ ̳̞͇͎͔̙̫̤̻̯͖̻̫̬̦͙̍̈́̎̓ͫͭ̓̒ͭ̇ͦ̇̃̈͠͠ ̇ͧ̆ͨͬ́́̐͒͒̉ͨ͋ͨ̈̀͢҉͇̫̖̖̮̗̟͚̠̲̙̥̘̳͘ ̢̧̙̰̳͔̻̙͖̯̆̇ͨ̅ͮ̉͂̿ͮ̓ͭͣ̒̃̈́ ̵̵̸͕͔̭͓̲̦̩̣͍̫͍͈̜̓ͦ̊ͥ̂̒̆͊ͨ͡͞ ̶̞̲͓̯͇̞͖͔̤̭̯͖̞͔͎̬̤̲͆̇́̔̆̒ͭͤ̒ͥ͗̂ͦͤ͞͝ ̸̵̜̬̲̟ͤͫ͌͂͋ͭ̆̏ͤ̄ͣ̔ͧͣ͐̓̔̚ ̧̹̮͖͙͖͉̝̰̬̯̗̭̞̥̣͒ͤ͗̌͜͜͝ ̵̶̨̱͕̱͍̺̬̗̬̫̙͈͍̼̯̠͎̂̋ͧ͆͞ ͖͖̖̰̖̼̩ͪ̌̂̉ͤ̓̾ͤ͛͞͡͡ ͥ̈́̈́̈ͯͪͨͨͤͬͫͭ̍҉͓̗̤̼̗̯͕̤̖͉̕ ̧̙͖̥͕̞͇͖̳̟̮͕̜̐͐̓ͥ̃̉̓ͣͬ̌͐ͪͣͦͦ̑̉̈́ ̴ͧ̽ͥ̀͐̇̿̄̇̒̾͆̏ͪ͘҉̤͎̫̱̹̼͎̘̜̦̰̯̞̺ͅͅ ͎̰̪͍̩͕̖̰̤͔͓̉͂̒ͪ͆ͤͬ̈́͗̑́͢͡͞ ̶̴̡̢̪̱̦̩̻̳͍͓̬̹̣̺͍̹̈͂ͤ̑ͧ̃̒̑̈́ͤͯ̿̊̌ͥͬͧ̔̈́͜ͅ ͯ̈́̾ͪ͂̂͂͠҉̱͔̜̬̻̭̠͈̲̖̗̩ ̢̨͎̳̞̣̺̫͉͙̱̠̗ͭͥ̉̀͋̏ͨͪ͐͆͗̄ͥ̓͐ ̡̢̞͙̞̠̦͙̗̥̝̫̋ͧ̓̈̏ͣ͑͗ͣ̑̉̕͝͝ ̡͕̲̦̥̼̬ͯ̒͗ͧͦͬ̌ͮ̒̋̈̓ͯ̿͗͗̾̿͘͟͝ ̡̲̱̱̹̺̘̙͚̣̘̥̩̬ͬ̔̅̓̿̊ͮ̆͘ ̴̰̗̜̥̻̦̗̳̝̞̱̩̭̹ͥ̉͂ͯ̍̒̎ͨ͟͝͡ͅ ̧͎̗̟͎̮̭̥̮͚͕̹͚̟̗̖̺͕͈ͧͧ͐̾̑͗̌̔͗ͣ͋͌ͧ̓͟͞͝ ̱̪̬̬̠̝ͦ͋̓̒̆̍͂̎ͯ̿ͭ̓͒̎ͥͤ̓͘͝ ̸̶̥̪̱̪̞͖͖̯͔̖̭̩̝̥̠ͤ́͌̊ͭ̽́̽͂ͬͦͪͥ̓́̚ͅͅ ̨̣̩̫̼̞̠͇̞̖̙̜̺̺̞͖̓͑̊̃̔́͌͗͊ͫͬ̌͠ ̢̡͚̠̘̖͉̬̘̻̩͙͎̩̞̀̓̃ͦ̾ͧ͗ͯ̎̀ͬ̓̐͐ͩ͆ͥ̚͡ ̢̛̫̖̟͙̩̰̓̈ͫ̾̽̇̍̉͊͑ͥ̚ ͌̍̈́̅͏͠҉͏͖̖̻͖̯̮̯̣͔̱͈̞̹̮͘ ͭ͒ͣ̓ͧ͑̎̓̈́̄͗ͭͨͬ͌͞҉̲̲̬̺̦̭͎̱̘̠̮͚̳͙̪̜͈ ̨̧̟͇̣̯̳̫̹̯̮̭̼̫̰̬͕̙̈́̇́̊̕ ̵̖̲̟͖̫̟͓̮̗̱͓̝̖̩̱̝̹͍̏ͩͮ̾ͩ̑ͨ̄̍ͩ͜ ̶̢̛͉͕̜̦̲̩̪͙͕̘̻̙ͭ͐ͧ̊̽͂͊̕͡ ̶̴̨̺̪̻̘̪̣̝̳͔͖̘͎͍̗̱̣͍̈̊̍ͧ͊̽ͧ̄ͩͧ͆͗̉ͯ ̦̙̮̗̘̬͈̾̆̇ͩͨͪ́͂̌͗ͧ̐̓͛̿̄̐͂͐͜ ̄̽͂̉ͮ̿̾͒̽̍̅̐̈́̽ͦ̊҉͏̤̙̼̤͈̖̬̥̗̝̙͕̼̘̼͍͠ͅ ̶̵̳͇̥̖͕̹͍̼̣̦͎̼̥̟͈͉̄ͩ̔͗ͬͬ̉ͫͦ̐͗ͤ̽̔ ̨̢̙͉̣͇̤̈́͊͛̇̐ͬ̒ͦ̓̂͋̃̌ͥ͛ͥͦ̕͘͟ͅ ̢̛͆͑̎ͥ̍̇̓ͤ̇̈́͆̊̔̆͌͑͟͏̠̦͙͈͖̝͕̩̬͔̲̠̺̭̜̬ ̶̶̗̭͈̜̥̙͕̥͕̦͈̺̜̦͔̺ͧͣ̂̉̅ͫ͠ ̶̸͙͓͍͓͎̱̘͈͉͇̖̪̹̯̩͍ͪ̓ͫ͌́̍̓ͯ̈̂̈̓̄̔̃̌̒͟ ̎̄͌ͩ͏̧͙͓͖̰͈͜ ̴̡̬̗̥͉̺̩͖͉͉͙̼̜͕̲͉̫ͧ̉ͫ͌ͫ̔ͅͅ ̛̘͉͔̻̬͈̩̻̘̳̯͇͉̥̺͉͍ͪͧ̉̇̉ͯ̊̚͞i̴̶̺̹̮͖͍̫̲̖̗ͨ̿ͩ̾͌̾͗ͪͪ̑̃̑̚̚̕͝g̈̅̇ͧ̓͠҉͔͈̦̠̘͍n̸̵ͭ̃̏̏̄̇͛̽͒̉ͥ̅͌͐̄͠͡҉̥̥̦͔̗͚̻̣͍̮͖̣̟ȏ̜̝̼̙̦̺̠̞̙̘̟̺͉͇̲͚͊ͭ̋̾̈ͨ̓͋̎̇͒ͮͥ̇͘r̨̛̓̆ͯ̓͒ͧͦͭ̏̂̉̎̈́̉ͣ̈́͋́ͫ͏҉̹͚̟̩͍͍eͥ͑̐ͫ̏͛ͥ̓ͫ́ͯͯͣ͋҉̝̗͍̩̖ ̱͎̭̝̘̼̝̫̱̥͕͉͉̼̜͕͛͌̅̍ͬ̈́ͮ̅̓͘͜͠͞͠h͑̇͐ͯ̏̅͟҉̷̮̲̱̠͔̯i̷̢̥̪̱͕͖̱͚̟̠͈ͥ̐ͦ͋̈́̓͛̌͊̄́̃͆̔͛̒͊͘͟m̧̟̟̝̼̯͙̮͍̮̣̞̜͐ͦ̂ͦ͑͜ͅ  
>  no no  
> help me h lp no  
> h̴̬̬͍̳̰̜͔̙͚̣̩̄̏̈̓͒͆̚ẻ̶͈̯̳̯̲̣̠̤̲̘͖̜̮͛̋ͧ̅̑̍ͯ̒ͮ͘͟ ̨̛̲̙͖̬͔͖̰͎̼̩̳͍̐̋ͩͨ̃̿̐̅̓͋̓ͬ̅̿͋̉̚͘ͅi̴̝͚̱̹͇̬̖̥͚͕͈̘̝̻̣ͥ̄ͣ̏͆̌ͬs̛ͫͧ̋̒̃͢͏̜̠̻̠̙̥͉̳͈̕ ̼̼̫̭̹̤͕̠̳̬̣̰̖̥̖ͫͤ̑̍̾̉̉͒ͬ͜͡͡F̷̨̺͎͈͉̘̘ͮ̒̆̑ͧͬ̃͂̈̔̎ͦ͡I̻̻͙͎̫͇̓ͩ̒̆͋ͯͯ͐̈̍͌̌ͩ̋ͭͩͣ̇ͦ͟͠Ṇ̴̡̛̣͕̰͓̥̱̪̫̯̓ͣ̾̃̾̊ͨͮ͞E̡̨͛͛̈́͌̋̓͒͆̍͗̓ͫ̍̌ͪ̍̈͛͜͏̛̝̰̫̠̙͔  
> help me h


	15. w̟͓̰̪̜i̢̡̤̪̦͔p̧̟̻̜̯ͅe̢̗͎͠͞ ̢͉͡y̢̖͓͖͘ọ̙͙̪͎̤͡u̷͕̖̜̦͖͕̻̪̞͘̕ ̺̻̮͔̻̮͝c͇̙̬l̰̪̖ę̜̩̻̮͈̺͢a҉̸͙̗̺̺̪n҉͕̪̜ ̳̱̗̤̬͉͖͘͞ͅw̨̛͇̰̺͚̤̹̪͈̹i͏̨̺̳͜ţ͏̤̪̦̪h͚̥ ̦̖͟͟d̫̗̦̤͓̭͇i̥̕ͅr̵̮̻̥̠t͏̤̗̩̣y̠̟̘͈͇ ̫̩͍̳͇̖h͏͏̗̗͓̦͇͚̠̮a̱̞̮̬̖͎n͏̻͎̮̫͡d̴͚̹͓̜̦̖̙̞̝͠͞s̢̤̼͈̤̻͇͞ ̷̵̞͡

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> totally thank ryo/poemisdead for this. if it weren't for her I'd still be slumped down on the couch bein' all sad.
> 
> first, im gonna thank her. ilysm <3 thank you for all our conversations yesterday and today and hopefully tomorrow and thanks for being wonderful and great and supportive and just cheering me up. 
> 
> second, sorry this is late. i spent the new year with people who were very important to me <3
> 
> third, happy new year! let's make 2018 great together!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ẏ̒͗ͦ̉̾̀̓̾̈̊̾͏͇̦̝͖̺̻̯̹̝͓̠̲̪̗̬o̴̴̢̢̳̖̻̗ͯ̌̌ͯͦͪ̇̓̉́͒̍ͮ͒͛̾ͬ̚͝Ǘ̷ͯͦ͆̌҉̭̲̪͓̰̖͇̲̻̩̟̪͡͞͞'̷̛̛̝̥̗̩͚̤̗͓̩̩͇ͫͣ̄̀͋́̍͛̇ͨ͌ͭ̓̌̅̒ ̸̩͔̺̭͎̬̜̜͙̿͐ͫ́ͫͬ̏̃͗ͭ͐̿̊̆ͅl̡̪̻̠̻͔̩͇̦̞̖͕̩̮̏̃ͤͪ̃̓̉̕  
> ̸̛̤̙̳̮̹͍̾͆͋̉̂̈́͞͝͝n̐͗̉̀̑͏̳̠͔̬͕̼̙̣̫̣̠̭͢ ̡̙͚̰̰͍̖̯͙̜͕͖͓̱͙̠̙ͩ̂͑ͫ̎ͨ̋̚͘͜͞vͨ̓̾ͨ҉͔͔̠̼̥͓͈͠e̮͓̩̰͌̅̈̽ͧ̑͒ͥ̄̆͆̇̇͋ͨ̐̄̕͞͠r̴̡̻͓̮̥̝̪̪͍̲ͩ̅̑̂̍  
> ̶̺̙̘͎̗̮̗̻͉̬̓̄ͨ͆̒̊̿̉ͯ̂͊ͭ͛ͩ̂̔ͫ͆͡ͅs̶̵̛̛̬̮̙̦̳͙̰̺̣̯͊̋̍͊ͨ̀̌̇̄͌ͧ̃̊̂̇͝ͅḘ̷͈̬̣̳̳̱̭̝͓͖̪͙̦̦̘͚̦̉͑͗̑ͯ̐ͪ̾͝E̶̴̍ͯ̍̆ͫ̀͛̽ͯ̓ͥ͒̚̚͝҉̳̦͔͚͇̺͙̥̠  
> ̶̢̺̠͚̪͚̼̺̪̜̰̞̒ͦͩͧ͒̌̄͂ͫ͌̀ͨ̋̋̋̐̃͛̚͟ḧ̬̞̠͕͍͚̯̺͎̲̹͔̘͕͔̟͐͛ͯ̋̾̚͘͝ͅ ̸̺͚̣͎͖͍͍̹͚͓̪̻̫̟̞͙̟̊̎ͤ̅̑ͦ̚͢͡͡M̸̢̙̺͇̫̺̖̹̱̻̞̯͎̓ͭ͒͆ͬͥ͋̉ͧͯ͆̎͜͠m̧̳̹͖͍͔̓̊͊͌ͧ͠m̴̴̢̡̟͖̥̰̟̄ͮ̋ͩ̅̄ͭ̉͝  
> ̡̖̪̗̳̩͎̮̦̿͂ͨ̅͋̌̾̎̃́͌̄́͑͌͑ͯ̆a̧̹̟̜͎͍̣̯̱͈̞͙̹̩̋ͣͩ̑ͦ̇̄͜͠ͅgͮ̆́̽̃ͪ̇ͦ̄҉̢͎̗͙͎̹̜͚̯̭͉͎̘̬̲͉̭͉̣̕͢ ̧̛̲͓̞͙̺͚̖̠͈̻̬̬̟̬̞̻͈̤ͬ̉̾ͩͮ͞i̡̢̜̫̪̫̱̘̠͎̮̣̣̣ͫ̿ͤ̒̌ͣͮ̓̄̏ͅn̴̗͍̳̞̞̊̌ͣͣ̔̕
> 
> too late and not great. sorry!

     “Jack, why did you do that?”

     They were standing apart now, still receiving glances from anyone who’d watched what had just unfolded. Mark was staring at him with wide eyes that were fearful and… he couldn’t pinpoint what the other emotion was, but it was a stark contrast to the terror in his gaze.

     “What d’ya mean?”

     “Why’d you do that?”

     Jack shook his head. “I heard yeh, I jus’ mean, why else would I?”

     “You don’t understand,” Mark looked distraught as he broke their eye contact to peer down at his feet. “I left because you don’t need me. You don’t _want_ me.”

     The Irishman closed the space between them again, using his hand to lift Mark’s head up by the chin. “I damn well know w’at I fockin’ want, Fischbach,” His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the man. “An’ what I want is righ’ in front o’me. If yeh expected me ta give t’at up, ta let yeh go, yeh’re fockin’ insane, Mark. _Insane._ ”

     Mark gaped at him, dumbfounded and shocked. His lips parted to say something, but nothing escaped his mouth, leaving his jaw hanging open a little.

     “Mark. _I know w’at I want._ D’yeh want ta try an’ tell me I don’ again?”

     “Jack, I…”

     “ _Fischbach.”_

     The American’s eyes widened and he squirmed. “N-no.”

     “Good. Ready ta go ‘ome? We’ve got ta walk, I didn’ grab me wallet an’ I won’t let yeh pay fer anythin’. Absolutely refuse ta, actually.” Jack pulled his hand away from Mark’s face, pulling his phone out in order to check the time.

     “I can pay for it, really-”

     “’Ave we not been over t’is?”

     “S-sorry…” Mark whispered, twiddling his thumbs and staring intently at the ground once more.

     Looking up from his phone, Jack’s eyes softened and he felt them moisten. Suddenly, he was shaky and his vision was blurry. Hastily, he shoved his phone back into his pocket, practically throwing himself onto Mark and letting out a muffled cry as he burrowed his face into the crook of Mark’s neck. “Mark, I… ‘m so ‘appy t’at… t’at yeh didn’ leave… didn’ leave m-me,” He stuttered, voice quivering. “’M s-so ‘appy yeh’re ‘ere wit’ me…”

     Mark let out a grunt in surprise, recuperating in time to envelope the trembling Irishman in his arms. “I… I just… I think,” He searched desperately for words, tightening his grip. He was practically _putty_ in Jack’s hands, and every time the man spoke he melted. “I just think that your accent is music to my fucking ears.” He breathed out, unable to think of anything else

     Jack just let out a half-sob, half-chuckle, pressing himself into Mark, probably for support. He was so shaky he felt like his legs might give out. He’d gotten over the adrenaline of the previous fear and anxiety that he’d had before, and all the stress and different outcomes were rushing to his head. He was tired, but he cared.

 

* * *

 

     They were back at Jack’s home, the Irishman just holding a very ashamed and torn up Mark. He’d already texted Robin and explained the entire situation in as much detail as he wanted to, along with informing his editor that he’d just be uploading some prerecorded videos for the day. That supply was getting low, however. He briefly wondered if he should take a break from YouTube while Mark was here, but he quickly decided against it, knowing that Mark would never forgive himself if he made the choice to do that.

     So they just laid in Jack’s bed without a care in the world, held close to one another in a comfortable silence. Jack couldn’t decide if he preferred the quiet or something filling it, but at least Mark was here. With him, it didn’t matter if everything was dead silent or all he could hear was noise. He’d be happy with anything.

     This thought momentarily… scared Jack. Could it be a good thing to depend so much on another person? His mind took a ride back to his utter panic and desperation when Mark was gone, and his loneliness when the man hadn’t even come yet. There was no doubt that he relied on the American, but he couldn’t decide if this was a problem or not.

     It didn’t really… _feel_ like a problem. Not to him at least.

     He didn’t want to think about it.

     So he just told himself to shut the fuck up and enjoy this. Their cuddle session, that is. Because that’s what was happening. Yeah. Damn right it was.

     The hushed atmosphere didn’t last. Mark was the one to break it, asking a sincere question. “Hey, Jack… you said you love me. But I don’t… I don’t understand that. Why?” His voice was nervous and hesitant.

     Jack’s eyes fluttered open. “Why do I love yeh? I mean… Mark (read: Maerk)… I love everythin’ abou’ ya. ‘Ow goofy yeh are, an’ how kind. Ye’d think o’ everyone else be’fer ever thinkin’ o’ yerself. Yeh want ta make everyone ‘appy. It’s sweet, y’know. Yeh’re jus’ so selfless, an’ ye’re the only one who can cheer me up when ‘m sad. Sometimes, all I can think abou’ is _you,_ an’ it drives me mad, ‘specially when yeh’re not ‘ere. Yeh mean everythin’ ta me, Mark. I wasn’ kiddin’.”

     “Oh.” Mark whispered, hands in Jack’s hair to card through it. “ _Oh._ O-okay. If… You really…” He couldn’t figure out what to say, so he stopped talking for a minute, recollecting the shaken fragments of his mind. With a deep breath, he murmured, “Do you really mean that?”

     The Irishman nodded, sighing lightly. “Every word o’ it, yeh hear?”

     “I… I’m trying… I really am…”

     He softly smiled and turned his gaze up to look at Mark. “I know. I believe yeh. Yer bes’ is all yeh can do, an’ I know yeh’re doin’ yer bes’.”

     The American still looked a bit troubled, though he seemed to feel a little better than he had before. “Uh… o-okay.”

     More comfortable silence, the two of them just holding one another with closed eyes.

     For some reason, Jack felt scared to open them. What if his eyes opened and Mark was gone? This had to be a dream, because how could he have done that? How could he have caught his best friend right before he got on a plane to leave for God knows how long? It was all so surreal, such a movie-like situation. It was all wrong, too planned and cliché. What if he’d imagined it all? God, that was such a Jack thing to do. He could see himself doing it so vividly.

     He needed to record something. His mind was getting a hold of him and he couldn’t let it do that, because he might never escape if that happened. Briefly, he wondered if Mark would understand that.

     What he really wondered was if Mark would run again.

     Hesitantly, he scooted away from the American, feeling a lot of unwelcome déjà vu from earlier that day. “I should really record somethin’. I’ll go insane if I don’.” He’d attempted to sound like he was joking, but it hadn’t worked, so he forced a chuckle. “H-hey, uh… can yeh… Promise me yeh’ll stay?”

     Mark blinked as if he were in a haze or couldn’t think. “What? Yeah, I promise.”

     “T’ank yeh,” He murmured, smiling sheepishly as his face flushed. He stuffed his hands into his pockets awkwardly, eyes roaming everywhere except Mark. “Jus’… fer everythin’. I dunno what I’d do wit’out yeh, Mark. Jus’ know t’at, o-okay?” His eyebrows furrowed and he shuffled out of the room, too worried about what he might see to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ǐͮͣ̆̎̊҉̢̼̼͎͔̭̭̲̖̜̳̮ ̵̷̤͖̲͚̦̝̩͔͍̹̬͇̲̌ͤ̈́̌ͬ̍̅̍̊̾͋͐̚͞c̸͉͚͎̝̣̬̱̦͈͚͎̍͐ͬ̏̆̆̓̊̌ͭͯͤ̓̄̚̕͢͠a̶̫̺͇͇͓̬͚̙͉͎̦̺̠̣̦̞̲̞͌̊̂͛̈̈ͭ̕͝N͕͉̲̠ͤ̒ͣͧ̾̑͆̔̃͗̕͡N̷͋̑͆̾̒̇̋ͯ͐͆̏̄̄ͯ͏̴̛͏̥̜̳͓͇̬̹͕͈̫͓̱ ̸̙̫͔͇̺̫̦͉̯̮̳ͧ͂̄̓ͪ̓̈́͒͗́̇ͨͤ͑ͫͭͯ̚͘̕n̴̛̑̍ͮ̂ͫ̍͗ͨ͛͂̉ͥ͊̿ͯͥ̿̾̚͏̛̹̗͈̣̼̥̬̘̫̳̭̯̖̗̳ͅn̴͔̹̩̳̹̭̜̽̄̊ͭͣ̾ͦ̇͘͞  
> ̪̺͈͙̥̥̳̯̪̲̥̪̣̟͙̹̯̑̏̑ͮ̑̐̅̋́͛̈́ͬ̋͒̌͑̾͢͝f̨̺͓̬͍͉̻̲̪͔̹͈̭ͫ͊̌̏ͥ̈́ͮ̾̈̉ͮͮ̌̚ͅî̵̢̹̣͚̹͉̮̘͓̬͕̜̤̲͈̝͓̼́͆́̑̍͊͆ͩ̀̋̀ͤ͒͘͢͡ͅX̵ͩͮ̏ͩ̃͆ͪ̉҉̵̪̳̤̝̙̳̹̦̰͓̗X̷̬̠͎̳̜̙͖̯̳͍͙̖̥̜̣̦̾̏ͪͦ̓ͬ͌ͣ̄̐͛̏̈ͅ ̼̗̠̦̓ͥ̐̂̌ͪ̂̾͊̀̌͗͗̓̋̄͂͞͝t̡̘͈͇͕͙͖̻͓̠͕͓̮̮̤ͩͦͬ̅̒̎̒̃͋͆̾͗͆͛̔͂̓̓̚͜͡ ̈̒͑ͯͤ͋̓ͤ҉̳̠͓̬̣͚̦̲̲̪͈̝̫̺̜̘͔̕Ï͇̮̘̼̲̪͚͐ͤͩ͒̂ͫͫ̍ͤ̇͡s̸̓̂̔͊ͧͨͥͥ̄̅͗̊̌̾͋̒̏ͯ͝҉͕̠̰̻͠s̵̨͔̰͉̹̫͉̞̹̝̞̈́͌̌̉̐̓̋͡  
> ̢͕̺̙̺̹̦̼͍̱̟̦̲̳̠ͬ̏ͥ̽͛͆͛̋̄̇d̨̺̯̦̥̲͉̫̻̱͕̺̤̽̐͒̓́̏ͯ̐ͬ̇̚͜͝ ̵̡̥͔̦̮̮͔̠̖̯̤̥̤̲̠̜̱̜̩̭̓̒ͮ͌̐́ͬ͐ͤ̆̿ͪ͐̉ͦ͜͠n̡͈̬͔̲̹̖̍͑̈ͩ͆̋ͦ̔ͣ̑ͮ̓͡T̡̡̯͎̺̲̳͙̳̝̝̝̪͔͕̬̭͂̅̇ͧͪ̅ͮ̈̀͟͡ ̩̞͖ͧ̋̈́͊̆͌̏̕͜ẅ̶̝͈̩̟͈̣̺̝͚̝̮̪̗̪̬̦̬͎́̈ͯͨ͌͑̓̅͌̿̀̃͘ͅỏ̧͗ͨ̇҉̷͎̱̣͍̦͔͖͍̣ͅͅŖ̴̨̜̣̹̙̍ͪ̂̊͂̿̓̾́͐ͫ̔́̎̉ͪ͗͜r̨̛̪̹̠̹̟̝̮̗̯̙̙̳͖͆ͬ̾ͩ͋̍ͧ͆̔́̂ͤ̍̾ͥͦ͝ͅ
> 
> t̢̺̫͍̱̩̖͕̘̭̠̩̼̦̗̹̫̝̬́̌ͯ̊̓͑͐ͣ̆͌̕O̧͖̯̬͖̦͈͈̳̹͉̮͇͓̜͎͙͚ͬ͂͛ͭ̂͞ͅO͓̞͖̹͖̬̯̙̠̬͚̖͙͎̺͎̙̺̾ͮ͂́́ͮ̿̿̄͡ ̛̦͇̰̜̱͖͖̀̊̾̂̓̈́̿̊̎ͦ̈̋̃̋̌̒ͤ  
> ̷̯̪̦͚̟̣ͣ̿ͭ̉͘͟l̨̫͓̱̥̜̬̟ͬ͊̑̿̔͡ ̡̰̜͈͓̼̜̹͍̃͋ͦ̑͑͑ͬ̐͜T̷̛̩͚͕̣̹͓̦̱̙̣̯͚̅̅̾̅̈ͥ͠e̶̛͋̓̍̄͆̈҉̢͍̘̻̱͎̖̲͖͔  
> ̷͕͍̙̖̹̥̳̟̝̝̪̪̬͓̟͔̭̲̲ͭͮ̓̌͐̂̃ͪ͋ͣḧ̌́ͯ̇̌̎͟͏̮̳̞͖̯̞̹̠̜ḩ̴̖̺̦͔̂̓̅̍̊ͫ̈̆ͥ̊ͣa̡̝̰͇̹̯̲͇̥ͯ͛̊ͨ̉́̊ͪ̄ͯ͗̐̍ͫ͟͟h̵̖̰̝͈̜̝̫̗̗͈͓͇̱͎̿ͤ̔̒ͣ͐ͦ̉͋ͮͅa̸̴̧͎̤̼̬͕̻͔̠̜̖͚ͦ͐̇̒͋̎̒͌̚͠͡


	16. 1-800-DATEME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is existential at first, but then he isn't.
> 
> OR
> 
> Shameless smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's some smut ahead and by some I mean a lot also it's 3 am what am I doing

     Mark hadn't been doing well lately.  
     Jack could tell. He saw it in the way he moved, the way his laughs were a little too forced, and how his usually lopsided grin wasn't crooked with how he'd been smiling. His eyes were so dull, as if they were simply... holes in his face.  
     It was all wrong. Jack hated seeing it. He knew Mark couldn't help it, but he _did_ wish that the man would talk to him. Watching him suffer in silence was what killed Jack, and he knew it was _hard_ to express it and _hard_ to open up, but… okay, maybe feeling like this made him a douche. He just couldn't help it.  
     They'd been making a lot of videos with one another, mostly because they wanted to be around one another but also because it was a bit awkward when one of them was recording. That wasn't to say they didn't _also_ do it because it was fun for both of them.  
     Jack debated on flat out asking him to just talk to him, because he was genuinely desperate. On top of thinking something was wrong, the Irishman also thought maybe Mark believed he'd overstayed his welcome, which simply… _wasn't_ true, to be blunt. There was nothing Jack wanted more than for Mark to be here, and that was a _fact_.  
     And yet… he couldn't help but wonder if this was what Mark needed. Sure, Jack was lost in Mark's emotions just as much as the man himself was, and he couldn't necessarily say he knew what was best for him, but he wasn't sure. Mark needed to be with _someone_ , but what if that _someone_ wasn't _Jack_?  
     Maybe not, but it was clear to the Irishman that if Mark continued to stay here in England, he'd probably go nuts.  
     Would Jack have to go to America?  
     Not that he was opposed; he'd be thrilled to be anywhere Mark was, and he'd also get to see Ethan and the rest of Mark's team again. Still, the thought spiked him with anxiety.  
     How would everyone react to his and Mark's... thing? Would they be shocked? Supportive? Ethan knew about Jack's sexuality, and obviously so did Mark, alongside Robin. He was sure other people had guessed by now, but other than those three, there wasn't anyone else he'd explicitly _said_ it to. It wasn't that he was trying to _hide_ it, he just didn't see the need to _publicize_ it. He really didn't like labels anyway.  
     He'd honestly tell any of his friends if they asked, like Ethan had. Robin had figured it out through all that… _non-straight_ footage he'd edited out of Jack's videos every day. And Mark… well. _Clearly_.  
     There was just no need, in his opinion, to make it this... big thing. He loved whoever he ended up loving. Maybe they'd be a man, maybe a woman. It just… didn't have an effect on who it made him as a person, so he wasn't going to make something out of nothing.  
     It'd be best to talk to Mark about it. It's what he should do, because otherwise he'd just be left wondering, but that didn't mean he _wanted_ to do it.  
     Things would be okay. Hopefully.

 

* * *

 

 

    "Fock! Goddammit, c'mere so I can fockin' punch yeh!"  
     Mark laughed, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth in concentration as he navigated his character further away from Jack's. "Fuck you, _bitch_!"  
     Jack watched in helpless defeat as Twintelle, Mark's character, grabbed Jack's character and attacked her, effectively K.O.ing her and ending the match. "Fockin' _bullshite_!" Jack hissed, lightly slugging Mark's arm. "We agreed ta use th'new characters an' yeh betrayed me! Dickhead!"  
     Mark's eyebrows wiggled and he playfully linked arms with Jack, who crossed his in return. "All's fair in love and war, baby."  
     The Irishman smirked, rolling his eyes and looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "Suck my _ass_ , loser." He stuck his tongue out and untangled their arms, standing to stretch.  
     "Actually," Mark began with a snicker. " _You_ seem to be the loser. That's a nine to one win ratio _right fuckin' there!_ " He stood slowly, proudly gazing at the T.V. that contained the statistics he was boasting about. To prove a point, he walked over to it and started petting where the scores were, sighing dreamily. "Pride hurting yet, Jackaboy?"  
     "'M not lookin' an' yeh can't make me." Stubbornly, he turned his back to the television and crossed his arms.  
     "Fine, fine."  
     He listened as Mark turned the T.V. off and sat down, which told Jack he was safe to turn around and join him on the couch.  
     They just sat close together, comfortably silent. Jack knew he'd have to bring it up at some point, so he decided to do it now.  
     Praying to whatever God there was above, he parted his lips and let out a quiet exhale. "M-Merk. I… I can tell yeh've not been doin' well. An' I know it s'prolly 'cause ye've been 'ere so long an' everythin' so I wanted ta ask if… if… yeh'd feel better if I went back ta America wit' yeh."  
     He'd rambled most of it, just spewing it all out at once, and it clearly took Mark a couple moments to make sense of the rambling and jumbled speaking, because he just sat blankly for a minute.  
     Once Mark had processed everything, his eyes widened with something similar to shock. He seemed pretty taken aback as he breathed, "W-what? _You want to go to America with me?"_  
     Breathlessly, Jack nodded. "I really do."  
     "Jack… that's... are you…?  
     "Mark, I love yeh! _God_ , I love yeh so much it _hurts_. Jus' shut up an' let me go ta America with yeh!" He blurted, hands curling into fists and his eyebrows pulling close together.  
     "Only if you shut up and let me do this." Mark answered.  
     And they were kissing for a third time. The first kiss initiated by Mark, and this meant a _lot_ to Jack, really.  
     Both of them pulled their legs up onto the couch, and Mark was pushing Jack backward so that he was lying on his back with Mark on top of him.  
     Their lips were still connected. Jack grabbed Mark's collar, catching the cloth in his fists and parting his lips to allow Mark's tongue into his mouth. He _needed this._ He'd needed it for a while now.  
     Mark gladly took the offer, and they battled for dominance for a split second before Jack gave in, just wanting Mark in general, no matter _who_ was dominant. He was too fucking desperate to waste time figuring out top and bottom roles.  
     The feeling of his favorite person's tongue just casually exploring his mouth, as if a child in their new home, was something Jack had grown to love and cherish in the couple heartbeats he'd been experiencing it. Besides, Jack wouldn't mind if Mark's tongue had found a home in his own mouth. He'd very much _like_ that, as a matter of fact.  
     A low moan vibrated in his throat, and he decided he _really_ loved that whimper Mark gave him in response, too. He was loving a _lot_ of things right now, and this quickly became apparent to him, despite the fact that he couldn't really touch onto it with the _mess_ he was at the moment.  
     His mind was racing. He couldn't think, he couldn't _breathe_. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart, and the not-so-occasional groan from the man who was pinning him to the couch.  
     Mark pulled away, needing to breathe, because (sadly) he was human. Jack was panting, eyes still shut as he tried to catch his breath. His lungs ached and his brain screamed for more, screamed for _Mark_ , and he was _all too ready_ to give in to his want. He was prepared to just _submit himself_ to the man whose stare he felt checking him up and down.  
     Jack finally let his eyes flutter open, and he let himself focus and get used to the light that flooded his vision. After a couple moments he let everything sink in, his gaze fixated on Mark. "S-should I take t'at as a, 'yeh can come back ta L.A wit' me,' t'en…?"  
     " _Yes_."  
     Mark had practically _moaned_ it, shifting backward just enough so that Jack could lean up. "Tell me ta stop if yeh don' want t'is," He whispered, bunching the fabric at Mark's chest into his fists and giving it a little tug upwards.  
     The man raised his arms, allowing Jack to yank off his shirt in one swift motion. He tossed it aside, watching it land on the floor out of his peripheral vision.  
     He leaned in, connecting their lips again. He tilted his head, his arms wrapping around Mark. Slowly, his fingers ghosted down Mark's spine and back up, causing the man's breath to catch ever so slightly.  
     Teeth sank into Jack's bottom lip and he groaned, his nails digging into Mark's back.  
     They parted again, Jack's grip loosening. He pulled away to discard his shirt somewhere over his shoulder. _God_ , he wanted this. He wanted it _so_ badly. He'd wanted it for _so fucking long_ , and he was _getting it,_ and he'd die before he gave this up. And so they continued.  
     Yet, somehow, amidst his lust and desire, he managed to stop and gaze carefully at Mark, a hand on his arm. He glanced down at himself, not remembering when he'd removed his pants. His eyes wandered back to Mark, who looked concerned but also irritated. "Merk, be'fer we," at that moment, Mark started sucking and biting on his neck, causing him to gasp and melt all over again. "Befer we continue, are yeh sure yeh want t'go furt'er?"  
     He groaned when Mark nipped his neck gently and whispered against it, a smirk on his face, "I want to _fuck you senseless_."  
     Jack's eyes widened and then shut, tongue darting out to lick his lips. "'M all yers." He whispered.  
     "Good."  
     He listened as Mark wiggled out of his jeans and littered them somewhere in the messy room. Out of curiosity, he opened his eyes. Mark was... _very_ erect, and _very_ large.  
     And _very boxer-less._  
     Jack flushed, suddenly feeling very shy and insecure next to Mark. What if he wasn't good enough…? Then he was moving his gaze up to Mark's eyes.  
     They were so soft, so gentle, so _caring_. He opened his mouth to ask something but Jack pressed a finger to his lips. That look in Mark's eyes washed all of his fears away in seconds, because Mark would love him, no matter what.  
     Despite the loving look in his eyes, and how genuinely grateful he was, and how _certain_ he was that he was going to say something sweet and cute, all he could manage was a breathless, "I can't fockin' _wait_ 'til t'at s'inside o' me."  
     Mark chuckled, glancing away. "Slow down there, Jack. Do you have lube?"  
     Jack blushed and nodded, letting out a little giggle. "Sorry, jus' excited. Yeah, I do."  
     "We sorta… need it."  
     The Irishman gave him an awkward thumbs up and dashed painfully to his room, which was… pretty hard to do with an erection, really. He did return with the bottle of lube and a condom in one piece, though.  
     When he returned, Mark was lying down, staring at him through sweat-drenched hair and hooded eyes. _God_ , that was fucking _sinful_. _God, he was fucking ready._  
     He sat down excitedly, acting (ironically) like a kid in a candy store. Popping the cap off the lube, he coated his hands in it, not even bothering to put the cap back on before tossing it aside. He knew the way he was staring at Mark's erection was terrifying. He knew it probably looked like he was _worshipping_ it or something, but he honestly... kinda _was_.  
     Trying to mask the childish awe and glee in his wide eyes, he straddled Mark's thighs, licking his lips for the millionth time.  
     And then he was done fantasizing.  
     Jack bent over, his mouth just sort of closing around the head of Mark's cock. For a second, he was very conflicted. He'd admittedly done this before, but not to _Mark_. Not to his _idol_.  
     The muffled noise of pleasure Mark made shoved Jack over the hurdle of concern ahead of him.  
     He started with just swirling his tongue around the head, teasing Mark _ever so slightly_ , just a sort of _test_ to see how much he could take before he broke.  
     Apparently not much. A few seconds of the teasing and he was practically growling, and Jack didn't mind cutting him some slack.  
     So he bobbed his head up and down, taking one of his hands and wrapping it around the base of his dick, pulling it gently. He could tell Mark liked that, and he could also tell Mark hadn't had this in a while. He was already a moaning mess, his hands tangled into Jack's soft chestnut hair, tugging it ever so slightly.  
     This was so _right_.  
     On a particularly hard hair-pull, Jack moaned, and that clearly felt great for the man under him, because he nearly _screamed_. Was Mark _seriously_ this sexually frustrated? If he'd known this earlier, this would've _already fucking happened_.  
     When Jack pulled off, a string of his saliva connecting his tongue to Mark's length, he listened as the older man whined at the loss of touch.  
     "I know." He mumbled, swiping his thumb across the tip of Mark's dick. Despite Mark's objections, he reached into the floor for the lube again. "I haven' done t'is in a while, big boy, so yer gonna 'ave ta stretch me firs'," He spoke confidently, still holding the bottle out to Mark, who was slowly but surely rising from his position.  
     Before Jack knew it, his underwear were off and he was on his hands and knees, glancing over his shoulder at the beautiful man he'd pined over for _so_ long.  
     Mark was coating his fingers in lube, looking a little worried.  
     "Hey," Jack muttered, his tone light despite his labored breathing. "Ye're abou' ta put  _those_ fingers in _my_ arse, so if t'ere 'appens t'be anythin' ye're worryin' abou', tell me."  
     "I've never done this," Mark admitted tentatively, and the fact that he was able to even _think_ about Jack's well-being when he was so horny _amazed_ Jack.  
     After physically swooning, he smiled gently, craning his neck to look back at Mark the best he could. "All yeh 'ave ta do is put yer fingers in t'ere, okay? It'll hurt a little, but it'll be wort' it."  
     Mark was silent for a heartbeat, but then he pressed his eyebrows together in determination, nodding definitively. "Okay."  
     Although he'd braced himself, he wasn't truly ready for the pain he felt when Mark inserted a finger into his opening. He winced, biting his lip to muffle the little cry of pain that he felt rising in his throat. Tears pricked his eyes and he gripped at the couch, trying his best not to worry Mark, who was asking him questions he couldn't bother to focus much on.  
     After a minute, he was more used to the stretched feeling. With a sigh of content, he murmured, "Ye can m-move."  
     Without hesitation, Mark had pulled his finger out, making Jack whimper. A fraction of a second later, it was back in, thrusting back and forth but never leaving from inside him.  
     Jack moaned, tongue darting out to lick his lips. "F-fock. Can yeh, _ah_ , y'know… _Fuck_ , f-faster, _please_..." Of course, Mark did the opposite, pulling his finger out entirely. Jack hissed in protest, irritated at how empty he felt. "T'at is _literally_ -"  
     He cut himself off when Mark shoved two fingers in, obliging to his request and even scissoring him, too.  
     So Mark was catching on.  
     It was Jack's turn to be the moaning mess. "Fock! M-Mark, _ah_ , I-"  
     He hadn't expected Mark to cut his sentence off early.  
     "My name coming out of your pretty little mouth... I want to hear it more. Can you do that? Can you moan my name? Can you tell me you _want_ me?"  
     "Oh God, y-yes, Mark! I _want yeh_ , I _want all a'yeh_ , I want yeh ta fock me 'til I can't fockin' _think s-straight_! Oh God, _Mark_ ," He found himself whimpering helplessly, groaning and writhing under Mark. " _Fock me_ , Mark, I want yeh t-ta fock me! A-Ah, _God, please…"_  
     Mark chuckled, though it resembled more of a moan. "You want me to do that?" He scissored his fingers again, his voice so deep that Jack was sure he was going to get lost in it.  
     He didn't want to find his way out.  
     Mark went on breathlessly, "You want me to fuck you senseless, make you _beg_ for me?"  
     "Oh God, _yes_ , please! F-fock me, oh _God, Mark_! I want t'at, _please_!"  
     The fingers left him again, and Jack still hated feeling empty. He listened to Mark lubing himself again, muffled little moans escaping his lips.  
     And then Jack felt the prod at his entrance, and he whimpered in apprehension, because _fuck_ , he was so ready. _He was so ready._  
     All that emptiness was worth how full he felt with Mark _actually_ inside of him.  
     He groaned, not even fucking _acknowledging_ the little twinge of pain. He was too desperate to really _care_.  
     Rather than telling Mark he could move, he whispered gently and lustfully, " _Pound my fockin' arse, Mark._ " He was classy, thank you for noticing.  
     Mark did not disobey, his hands on Jack's hips. He thrusted, slowly at first, but Jack's squeak of pleasure must've encouraged him, because he picked up the pace.  
     "'M not… _o-oh shite_ … fockin' _glass_ , yeh can fock me 'arder."  
     Mark grunted, and then he was pretty much _slamming_ into Jack, which was a _pretty_ quick change, but not one either party was _opposed_ to. Jack gasped, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure, because oh _God_ , that was _fucking good_.  
     Jack felt a hand leave his hip and twist into his hair, yanking his head back. A normal response would be a cry of pain, but Jack just breathed out a strained moan, eyes still closed tightly.  
     "You're so pretty for me, coming undone like this and _screaming_ for me. I _love_ that. I'd listen to it _all day._ " His voice was gravelly and _laced_ with desire and longing; pretty much a field day for Jack's dick.  
     " _F-fock, Mark!_ O-oh _God_ , 'm gonna cum, Mark, yeh're gonna m-make me… f-fock, _harder_ …" He was rambling, spitting out nonsense between his gasps and moans and squeals, and he knew that. He just didn't _care_.  
     And then he was cumming, Mark's name in his mouth, accompanied with _sinful_ noises he thought would only be paired with the name in his dreams. Jack's orgasm seemed to be the start of a chain reaction; Mark quickly climaxed after, moaning Jack's name and letting his eyes roll backward.  
     They collapsed, Jack whimpering as Mark pulled out. Together, they just laid there, breathless and sweaty.  
     "We should really clean up," Mark whispered, his voice weak and broken.  
     "I don' wanna," Jack replied quietly, equally wrecked and already half asleep, perfectly content with just the warmth of Mark's body, the sound of his voice, and the feeling of his hands in Jack's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome.
> 
> Also, a conversation with [Ryo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemIsDead) about this chapter:
> 
> [1](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/397462181182046208/400127538011045888/Screenshot_2018-01-08-22-22-09.png)   
>  [2](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/397462181182046208/400127538011045889/Screenshot_2018-01-08-22-22-16.png)   
>  [3](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/397462181182046208/400127537403002881/Screenshot_2018-01-08-22-22-45.png)
> 
> we're in loooooove ♡


	17. i wanna be known by you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (this one's all over the place)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it wrote itself?

     Jack had awoken first, met with a sleeping (and still naked) Mark. Taking that opportunity by the horns, he dedicated a minute to just watching Mark sleep. Yes, it was _fucking_ creepy, but Jack couldn't _fucking_ control himself.  
     He was _everything_. Disheveled hair, soft skin, lips parted _just_ so, and Jack _loved_ it. He loved it _all,_ and he wanted it all again. He wanted to touch him, hold him and feel him, and just _kiss him._ Kiss him because he didn't know how long they had, and it might be today or tomorrow or in a week when he'd never see Mark again.  
     With one last longing glance, he carefully picked his way out of the tangled mess of limbs he'd been caught in, trekking to the bathroom because _God knows he needed a shower._   
     He'd made it quick, mostly because he kind of wanted to make breakfast or something for the dork sleeping on his couch.   
     Though, he did stop a second to look at himself in the mirror, scanning himself up and down. His gaze caught at his neck and shoulder area, and he groaned. "Fockin' _hickies_ ," He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his wet hair.  
     Hopefully the fans wouldn't pay too much mind to it, because he wasn't ready to share anything about his and Mark's relationship. He just _wasn't_. Hell, he'd never even said anything about his _sexuality_.  
     Part of him wanted to keep everything private. He wanted to keep it tucked away for himself, away from the dark corners of the Internet, because what if becoming too public pushed them away? He'd seen it happen to _so_ many couples, and he was _far_ too terrified of losing Mark than he'd really like to admit.  
     But when both parties have tens of millions of followers and are already popularly shipped, it'd be a _fucking miracle_ to keep things secret. Jack couldn't think of the last time he'd scrolled through a video with the two of them in it and one of the top comments wasn't something to do with Septiplier. He liked to think the fanbase was dead, but it so clearly wasn't, and Mark staying here was only fueling that.   
     Though, the two of them were also fanning the flames…  
     Okay, maybe it was _kind of_ their faults. Jack was almost sure no one genuinely thought it was _real_ , and it was just a fun little thing.   
     Keyword: _almost_.   
     Didn't _every_ YouTuber have this? Felix and Cry, Felix and Ken, Ethan and Tyler, hell, even _Jack_ was shipped with Ethan, Felix, and Robin. He was certain Mark was shipped with Ethan and Tyler at _least_. One time, he'd stumbled across fanfiction of him and _PJ_.  
     _The difference with all of those and this situation_ , he thought, _is that Mark and I are real and none of those others are._  
     He sighed at his reflection, adjusting the towel around his waist and trudging out of the bathroom. Naturally, all of his fucking clothes were dirty. Defeated, he threw on one of Mark's extremely oversized shirts and a pair of underwear. The shirt was _literally_ almost to his knees, which was pretty nifty. He'd just have to go pants-less. Not like he'd be exposing anything anyone in the house _hadn't_ seen.  
     His fingers brushed over the hickey on his neck, and then the _other_ hickey on his neck, and _oh God where did they stop?_   
     Why did he have to bruise so easily? Why did the dark shapes have to be _so fucking apparent_ on his _literally white_ skin?   
     Fuck it. _Fuck it_. He didn't have any turtlenecks, and if he did they weren't clean. Fuck it _all_. Even if he had one, and it was clean, he was pretty sure at least _one_ of them would poke out of it.  
     Fucking _fuck_ Mark Fischbach.  
     Wait, no, not like that. That wouldn't solve _any_ of his problems. The little shit would _probably_ give him more, actually.  
      _Unless I torture him into submission._  
     Well, _shit_. Jack had no clue where _that_ came up, but it _certainly_ made the blood rush to places he was conflicted about it going to.  
     Shoving the thought into the back of his mind, he stiffly made his way to the kitchen to whip something up.  
     He was half way through with the eggs and working on the bacon when he heard rustling behind him. Jack knew it was Mark, so he didn't even bother with turning around. Maybe he'd think his messy, still slightly damp hair was cute or something.  
     "Jack, did…?" Mark trailed off.  
     Rather than replying, he hummed in response, trying to find all the shit he needed to make a few pancakes for them. Or for _Mark_ , anyway. Jack wasn't very hungry.  
     "Is that my shirt?"  
     Jack nodded, snapping his fingers at the sight of the second cartoon of eggs. He bent into the fridge to get them, only _slightly_ sticking his ass out teasingly.  
     "…Are you wearing pants?"  
     As he straightened, he shook his head, bustling back to the counter to mix all the pancake ingredients.   
     "You have hickies."  
     Jack almost shivered at how close Mark had gotten to him, but he was able to hold it off. Answering with a nod, he also added, "'Cause o' yeh. I know m'yers wit'out yeh bruisin' me _damn_ neck, dork."   
     "Is that so?" Mark's voice was practically a purr, his voice rich and smooth and _God, fucking fuck_.  
     The Irishman clicked his tongue and smirked. If he wanted to tease Jack, he'd tease right back. "Fer someone who swore up an' down 'e 'ad never done t'at b'fer, yeh sure caught on quick." He twiddled his thumbs, satisfied with the bacon as he reached for the plate he'd gotten earlier and started carefully sitting the meat on it.   
     "I was impressed," He went on, snatching the plate he'd designated for the eggs. "We were bot' pretty desperate, t'ough. Nex' time we'll take it slow, 'kay?" Jack twisted around, spatula still in hand. He hadn't expected the camera in his face.   
     His eyes widened and he dropped the utensil in his hand, damn near burning his foot with it. Accent thickening with embarrassment, he started raising his voice playfully. " _Are yeh fockin' serious_? Ye're _recordin_ ' t'is? Merk, me 'air 's a mess an' all 'm wearin' s'one o' yeh shirts! _I jus' fookin' talked abou' us havin'-"_  
     He broke off, covering his mouth. "Ye aren' postin' t'at! _I swear ta God, Fischbach_ , give me the _fockin_ ' camera! 'M gonna _ruin yer life,_ dick'ead, _gimme it!"_ Jack was yelling the words as he desperately reached for the camera while Mark laughed at him.  
     Mark was laughing at him. He was going to post this, and everything would be _ruined_ , Jack was going to lose _everything_ , he was _fucked_ , _they were fucked._ There wasn't going to be a Mark and Jack, and _Jack was fucked._   _Fuck_.  
     Mark was _laughing at him._ His fear and anxiety crushed his lungs momentarily, but he was okay! Despite the slight hesitation in their act, he kept it up, sticking out his tongue as he finally grasped the camera. He quickly shut it off, sliding it onto the counter, trying not to let his YouTube personality face falter.  
     It'd be so much easier to be Jacksepticeye.  
     Of course, he let himself break.   
     Of _course_ , Mark noticed.  
     "Jack, what's wrong? Don't hide from me, okay?" The man looked worried, his hands enclosing around Jack's wrists in such a gentle and loving manner that Jack was sure he might melt.  
     He watched distantly as Mark held the pale hands close together and rested them on his broad chest. Jack just stared at their overlapped hands, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes blank. "I made us breakfas'," Jack finally muttered, freeing his hands and turning back to the pancakes. A glance down reminded him that the spatula was on the ground, so he snatched another from the counter, flipping the pancakes.   
     He heard Mark sigh and listened to his footsteps on the kitchen floor. The unpleasant sound of a chair scraping the tile echoed, telling Jack he'd taken a seat in front of one of the plates that were already set.  
     It didn't take long for Jack to finish their breakfast, and he served it proudly, his smile gentle and soft. "A 'thank yeh' fer las' nigh'," his gaze fixated onto a random spot on the ground, and he was silent for a few heartbeats. "Yeh didn' shower, did yeh?" Hesitantly, he seated himself across from Mark, who was absentmindedly picking at his bacon and tossing bits of it in the floor. He figured it was a nervous habit he had back at home, but Jack didn't have any animals to eat the meat.  
     Swiftly, he caught one of the American’s hands, gripping it between both of his. "Did yeh shower?" He asked again, voice downy, and kind.   
     Mark just nodded, looking everywhere but at Jack. "I did. I guess you didn't hear it over your _insane_ cooking, huh?" He cracked a tiny, strained smile.  
     "Guess not," Jack replied, looking down-trodden. "Abou' th'whole recordin' t'ing. I jus'… dunno if 'm ready fer anyone ta know..."  
     The older man looked almost hurt, his eyes wide. "I understand?" He seemed unsure, eyebrows pinched together in thought. Finally, Mark let out a heavy sigh. "I can't lie and tell you I do, but I want you to explain so maybe I _can_ understand, okay?"  
     "I guess… 'm jus' scared, Merk, i's nothin' ta do with _you_. Ye're _amazin_ '. I dunno w'at I'd do wit'out yeh. I jus'… what if we drif' apart 'cause a'our fans? I _love them_ , bu' t'ey…" Jack trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say.  
     Mark bit his lip lightly. "Meddel. I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so inconsiderate. I definitely wouldn't have posred it without your permission anyway, okay? I'd be a dick for that."  
     Jack sunk his teeth into the inside of his cheek. "A-ah… don' apologize, ye couldn' 'ave known, 'kay…? Really all me faul', fer not talkin' t'yeh an' shite."  
     "Let's just _both_ take the blame and eat something before it gets cold, okay?"  
     Jack nodded and flashed a tiny smile, releasing Mark's hand. Cautiously, he scooted a few pieces of bacon onto his plate and started to eat.  
     He could feel Mark's stare on him, and after a moment he couldn't keep from looking up. "Why're ye starin'…?"  
     Concern lacing his voice, Mark asked, "Is that all you're eating...?"  
     Jack flinched, feeling his face flushed. He'd thought he was doing better on the eating part. These three pieces of bacon were three pieces of bacon _more_ than his _usual_ breakfast.  
     "I- I don'- t'is is an improvemen' fer me, okay? 'M tryin' _really 'ard…"_  
     Mark's gaze softened and he couldn't help but smile a little, a hand moving to sit on top of Jack's. "I'm proud of you, okay? I'm happy you're getting better."  
      He Irishman felt a pang of guilt at the genuine words. The truth was, Jack really _wasn't_ getting better. Sure, he was forcing something _into_ him, but he was _also_ forcing it back out. It was a change, but he knew it wasn't a good one. He just... couldn't bring himself to stop. Not even for Mark.   
     Jack just smiled, looking as sincere as possible as he tore at the bacon, despite being happy to just watch Mark chow down.   
     The American finished exceptionally fast, cleaning up the bacon he'd subconsciously tossed into the floor. On his way to the trash can, he pecked Jack on the cheek, chuckling at his shocked reaction. "Thank you for the breakfast. It was delicious."  
      Jack just shrugged, smiling to himself and blushing at the compliment. He always got sheepish when someone said nice things about him, so it was understandable. Of course, not that he had anything to hide. They'd _literally_ fucked last night.  
     He distracted himself by cleaning up the table, stacking all the plates so he could go and wash them. He'd _actually die_ before he let his guest do housework, even though Mark had been here a while. The man was still his guest, and he was still the host.  
     _I wouldn't mind if he was a_ resident _, though…_  
     He shook his head to himself, turning the water onto a fairly hot setting and grabbing the sponge. As he reached for the dish soap, arms wrapped around his waist. His initial instinct was to laugh and roll his eyes, so he did. "'M tryin' ta clean up, dork."  
     Jack felt Mark's head above his ear, and then the nibbling of his helix, accompanied with a little kitten lick. He shivered, not bothering to hide it this time. Tilting his head to the side, he let Mark do his nibbling and biting and sucking along his neck and trapezius, letting out small whimpers and moans more often than not.  
     Rather than actually washing the dishes, he spent most of the time with his eyes shut and his head rolled back and cocked to the side, hands holding a plate or utensil and the sponge idly under the water.  
     He couldn't decide which of them had a bigger biting kink, honestly.  
     God knows he would've stayed like that _all fucking day,_ but he had shit to do.   
     Mark _was_ pretty high on his to-do list, though...  
     He wasn't helping his fucking case here.   
     After what felt like ages of the nibbling and biting and groaning, Jack turned the water off and let the dish clang into the sink, sponge following suit. Hastily, he whipped around, grabbing Mark by the shirt with his wet hands and kissing him hungrily, just to release his frustration.  
     He pulled away and then leaned back in, the kiss gentler this time around. His grip weakened ever so slightly, and he tilted his head, parting his lips in a manner that mimicked Mark's.   
     This time, Jack wanted to be dominate in their tongue wars. Mark had gotten to explore, and now it was Jack's turn.   
     Slowly, he slipped his tongue into Mark's mouth, taking his sweet fucking time because he didn't want this to end.   
     Mark sighed lightly into their kiss, and Jack smiled, his tongue playing around a few moments more before he pulled away, saliva still holding them together.  
     Jack was still smiling, and he just let himself breathe for a minute, his head on Mark's chest. He listened to the man's heartbeat, his _own_ heart thumping to the same rhythm after a second or two.   
     After his breathing had slowed to a normal pace, he shifted away from the bigger man, one of his hands locking with one of Mark's. "Yeh know 'ow I said we should try t'at again an' jus'… _slow down?"_  
     Mark grinned that crooked little smile of his, eyes mischievous and bright. "Yeah."  
     "Can we? Now?"  
     " _Now?_ " His tone was more breathless than it was shocked.  
     Jack nodded gently, smile widening as he gazed at Mark in utter adoration. "Now."  
     The raven haired man chuckled, tightening his grip on Jack's hand. "Of course, Jack. We can anytime you want to." His voice was a mere _whisper_ , loving and inviting and welcoming.  
     Jack didn't ignore the fluttering of his heart, and the way it skipped a beat when their eyes met. Not _this_ time.   
     He didn't _have_ to ignore it anymore, and Mark had taught him that without even _meaning_ to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for SMUT


	18. this is what i live for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark take their time.
> 
> OR
> 
> 3.6k words of pure, uninterrupted smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the best but it's finally done ♡ bless. Also AO3 got rid of the first edited version and I was like "fuuuuuuuck this so muuuuuuchh!!!"
> 
> Some personal updates: I've gotta get surgery on my knee rest in peace

     Jack was pinning Mark to the wall by the wrists, trapping him between his arms. Nonetheless, he maintained a gentle grip, captivating Mark's lips in a passionate kiss. They were pressed together, sweat sticking their hair to their foreheads. This time, Jack paid closer attention: to how surprisingly soft Mark's lips were, and the gentle brushing of their facial hair.   
     In their previous kisses, Jack had been distracted. By his anxiety, by his desperation, by his hesitation. But now, there was nothing against them. They had _all the time in the world_ , and for some reason, even his deepest fears couldn't get a hold of him.  
     He sighed with content, and Mark made a muffled noise of confusion. Jack didn't address it, just tilting his head and letting their lips fall into that special mold. It was their own secret, except this time, Jack didn't mind keeping it to himself. He was… _more than happy to_ , actually.   
     Nothing was stopping them.  
     _They had time_.  
     The larger man gasped into the kiss, his wrists pushing helplessly against the hands that restrained them, despite the gentle clench.   
     The Irishman couldn't help but smile, his grip loosening around Mark's wrists. Without hesitation, the hands found Jack's hair and tugged it lightly, weaving its way into it. A noise from deep in Jack's throat resonated in response, and he let his lips part.  
     He pulled them apart, their lips still brushing as Mark panted a little. Jack let him catch his breath until they were just leaning against each other, Jack staring down at their overlapped lips and Mark's eyes closed, hands still tangled in Jack's hair.   
     One of Jack's hands rested on Mark's cheek, his thumb caressing the man's bottom lip. Jack licked his lips, his own eyes fluttering shut for a few moments.  
     He put a little more space between them, only to utilize his free hand by ghosting his neck and shoulders with it. Letting it halt on his triceps, he just squeezed it gently and explored his arm, eyes now open and admiring it.  
     He giggled to himself, recalling when Mark had told him there was actually a _fandom_ dedicated to Mark's arms and pit hair. Jack had responded by telling him he _did_ have nice arms, and it'd devolved into an uncomfortable conversation about veins.  
     "What?" Mark muttered self-consciously, his voice a little sheepish. He chuckled nervously. "Why're you laughing?"  
     "I was thinkin' abou' ye tellin' me t'ere was a fandom fer yer arms." He answered truthfully, still letting his gaze trace every muscle on his limb.  
     The American let out a soft laugh. "Yeah. And you told me I had nice arms."  
     Jack nodded, his thumb still fiddling with Mark's lip. "It wasn' a lie. Bu'… now, I can… I can _mean it_." Slowly, his gaze traveled up to meet Mark's.   
     Mark smiled at him, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He didn't speak, Jack's finger still playing with his lips idly. Playfully, Mark's tongue darted out and licked his thumb.  
     He jumped a little, a tiny squeak falling from his lips. Jack had _planned_ on moving his digit, but Mark had closed it in his mouth, sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it. Jack stared at him in confusion. "Are yeh _suckin' me thumb?_ "  
     Mark just offered a nod.  
     "Wow. Never been 'arder in me _life_. 'Ow did yeh know t'at thumb suckin' was me kink?"  
     With that, his finger was released, and Jack let out a laugh. "Take yer _slobber_ , foul beas'." He teased, wiping his thumb across Mark's cheek.   
     The man whined and pouted, and Jack just grinned. Instead of kissing him again, he latched onto his neck, planting little pecks along his jawline. He leaned into Mark, biting into the meat of his shoulder and sucking it lightly.   
     Mark's only response was, "Fuck, Jack," and his hands tightened the hold he had on Jack's hair.  
     He separated from his shoulder, his finger sweeping over the victimized area. Jack pretty much _purred_ in satisfaction, connecting his lips higher on his lover's neck and nipping it, stopping to suck on a few different places. In the end, he'd left a string of hickies and bite marks along Mark's neck.  
     The Irishman parted from his neck, observing his work. Deciding it was adequate, he gripped Mark's shirt, just above the waist, pressing their lips together again. Mark was backing him up, steadily walking him backward until the backs of his legs tapped the bed.   
     Immediately, Jack sat down, pulling his lover with him so that the man was bent at the waist. One of his hands rested on Mark's chin, holding it there while the other ventured down to slip under his shirt.  
     Mark broke the kiss to breathe, and Jack took his opportunity, easing Mark's shirt over his head and tossing it into the floor. The two of them smiled gently at one another, and Jack scooted back, allowing Mark to join him on the mattress.  
     And then Jack was cornering him against the headboard, straddling his lap and kissing him again.  
     Happiness filled him as Mark moaned his name again, breathless and soft. He parted his lips, groaning as Mark's tongue slipped into his mouth. They had a mini tongue war, Jack giving in and allowing him to win.  
     His hands were all over Mark. One was coiled in his raven hair, carding through it and playing with it. The other grazed over his skin, navigating its way down to his chest. Jack stopped there, shifting forward. He withdrew his abused lips from Mark's. "Still wan'teh?" Jack asked shakily, hardly resisting the urge to kiss him again. He was so _perfect_ , with his tattered and red lips slightly parted, his eyes wide and gentle, his hair tossed about from Jack playing with it.   
     "Yes, Jack. I would _love_ to." He whispered, closing the distance between them and resting his forehead on Jack's. "It would mean everything to me."  
     Jack's heart fluttered, his stomach doing little flips. He closed his eyes, just enjoying Mark's warmth and love.  
    Disconnecting from him again, he took a breath and leaned forward to kiss him, a smile playing on his lips as he did so. Mark kissed him back, and it was chaste and impotent; just a slow, sweet, and _gentle_ thing. One of them deepened it; it didn't matter who. Mark was gasping again and Jack was whimpering.  
     Mark caught his lip between his teeth and Jack whined, squirming against Mark as he bit it.  
     Shamelessly, he grinded his ass against Mark's hard-on. Mark seemed just as care-free as he broke their lip lock and moaned again, bucking his hips this time. He whined, licking his lips and panting as Jack continued with his little lap dance. "Ah, Sean... _fu-cking hell_ , a-ah..."  
     Jack made a little noise of pleasure, but stopped his teasing. It was fun, but he knew it was torture. He'd save it for later. His attention directed itself to Mark's chest, and he held his hands there, a tiny smile playing on his lips. After a heartbeat, he shifted his hand, moving it to Mark's nipple.  
     "J-Jack, wait."  
     Startled and concerned, his head snapped up, but his hand didn't move. Mark looked worried and almost embarrassed. "Did I do somethin' wrong?" He asked tentatively, eyes wide.   
     "No no no no no," Mark sputtered. "Th-the opposite. You know how sensitive my nipples are. I just… not _too_ much, uh… y'know, okay?"  
     The Irishman giggled a little. "O'course, Merk. Anythin' fer yeh. Tell me w'en ta stop, an' I will." His voice was sincere, oozing with reassurance and comfort.  
     Mark just nodded timidly, smiling a bit as his gaze flicked to the side.  
     "Hey," Jack mumbled, one of his hands on the side of Mark's head and the other holding his chin. "Hey, look at me, Merk. I wan' yeh t'look a'me, okay?"  
     Hesitantly, Mark's eyes traced back to Jack's. He didn't speak, twiddling his thumbs just for something to do with his hands.  
     "I will do _anythin_ ' fer yeh. If yeh don' _want_ me ta do somethin', 'm _not_ goin' t'do it. T'is s'the _two_ o'us. Okay?" Jack's hand had moved to the other side of Mark's head, and then both of them had slipped down to rest along his lover's neck.  
     "Okay."  
     Jack leaned in, tilting his head and connecting their lips again, just for a short, reassuring, and loving kiss. After parting from him, he kissed his forehead, arms around his neck.   
     "You're the _best_. I hope you know that." Mark breathed, laughing fervently.  
     Eyes full of adoration, Jack cracked a grin, sighing in gratification. "Only _one_ o'us can be the bes', an' yeh already 'ave t'at spot on _lock down_."  
     Mark rolled his eyes, and Jack stared at him for another second before moving his hands again, shifting backward a little. He lifted his hands, only for Mark to catch him by the wrists. Flinching in surprise, he watched as his hands were released and his shirt was pulled upward. He raised his arms, letting Mark pull off the garment.  
     "Someone jus' woke up," he teased breathlessly, letting Mark climb on top of him so that he was pressed into the mattress. Mark started nibbling his ear, and Jack let out a soft groan. He felt the man sucking on his neck again. "F-fock, Merk, are yeh- _a-ah_ \- _seriously_..."  
     "Shut up, Jack." He whispered, peppering his throat with a few more kisses. "You talk too much."  
     The Irishman grinned, giggling a little until Mark's teeth latched onto the meat of his shoulder. The noise he made was louder this time, hands getting a hold on Mark's hair. He pulled it, probably with more force than necessary, and his back arched off the bed a little. "S-shit, Merk, st-op fockin'… _ah, fock_ …"  
     Mark stopped to laugh a little, his lips stretched into a crooked smile. His face moved away, and he propped himself up on his hands, causing Jack's grip to loosen. "Okay."  
     One of his eyes cracked open, his lips still parted slightly. "I didn' fockin' _mean it!_ Uhn- don' do t'at, I'll cum wit' me boxers on," he whimpered as Mark started grinding against him.  
     "Speaking of," Mark shimmied off of Jack, and the Irishman watched him shuck his pants. "Now, where were we?"  
     Jack had opened his mouth to say something witty and sexual but he was cut off by Mark answering his own question. "Oh, I know… can you stand for me, baby?"  
     Making a muffled noise, he felt his stomach tighten a little, because Mark was calling him _his baby_. He was Mark's _baby_ , and he was _more than okay_ with that. Obliging, he sat up with a little grunt and scooted off the bed, standing in front of Mark.  
     And then Mark was on his knees, fingers hooked around the waist of his boxers, swiftly pulling them down.  
     Jack flushed, shuddering at this entire fucking _sight_. He was _so_ ready, and nothing had _happened_ yet.  
     Mark was staring up at him with eager eyes. "You want to go on?"  
     "Suck my dick. I am fockin' _beggin_ ' yeh."  
     Mark didn't make a sly remark, not even hesitating to lean forward, taking as much of Jack's dick into his mouth as he could, which was honestly an _impressive_ amount. Jack's hands found that soft, dark hair, wrapping into it and holding on.   
     He moaned as Mark bobbed his head, tongue curling around his length. "M-Merk," Jack whined, yanking Mark closer by the hair. "Mmm, sh-shit, fockin'… _a-ah_ …"  
     The man on his knees grunted a little, and Jack let out a tiny cry of pleasure. When Mark released his aching cock, Jack whimpered, trying to pull him back. His efforts were resisted, the American instead giving his tip a series of kitten licks. After this, he took _just_ the head, tongue swirling it teasingly as he sucked _ever so slightly._   
     Jack was almost needy at this point, bucking his hips forward in desperation. Letting out a muffled noise of shock, Mark grabbed Jack's hips to steady himself as his face was fucked. Although he hated to do it, the Irishman forced himself to stop right before he came.  
     Panting, he gently edged away from Mark. His cock _screamed_ in betrayal, desperate for release, but he refused. He knew if he came now he might be too tired to do much else right off the bat, and Mark seemed to understand that, swiping the precum off his tip with his tongue. Clambering unsteadily to his feet, he grinned lopsidedly at Jack, his eyes dark with lust.   
     Jack licked his lips and bit the inside of his cheek, watching Mark pull down his own boxers to reveal a leaking erection. Honestly, Jack had _no_ clue how he'd stayed calm that whole time. It was respectable.   
     "'Ow d'yeh want ta go abou' t'is?" Jack inquired, still breathless, his voice a complete _wreck_ from his incessant noises.  
     Mark met his gaze, tongue poking out to wet his lips before his teeth sunk into the corner. "I want… I want you to f-fuck me." His deep, gravelly voice shook a little. "I want y-you to… to cum. In my ass. Um... _please_ …?"  
     Jack couldn't help but smirk, hungry eyes scanning his lover slowly. "I can do t'at. Where d'yeh wan' me ta, kitten?" He purred, watching Mark flush and try to hide his face in his arms.   
     There was a second of silence, mostly just Mark trying to recollect his thoughts. "Over the… over the edge. O-of the bed." He muttered, tucking his head further into hiding.  
     The Irishman giggled, his eyes hooded. He could've honestly gotten off to just the _thought_ of fucking Mark senseless against the side of the bed, but the _actual thing_ was going to do him fucking _wonders_.   
     "C'mere, babe," he beckoned Mark with a finger, and the man shuffled over. "Ye don' 'ave ta be ashamed of anythin', okay? 'M open ta doin' anythin'. I…" And suddenly, he felt embarrassed, his face flushed red and his eyes wide, scattering across the room.  
     He could tell Mark was expecting him to continue, so he sucked it up. If everything failed, he could blame it on the lust that clouded his mind. _Yeah_. That was a good backup.  
     "I love yeh, Merk. I'd do _anythin_ ' fer ye." He mumbled, and Mark laughed gently.   
     "You're a _hopeless_ romantic. Look at me."  
     Jack did, his eyes meeting Mark's. They stared for a heartbeat, before leaning in and sharing another chaste kiss. Mark ruffled the Irishman's brown hair, smiling at him. "I love you too. Let's get to the part where you _fuck me,_ okay? The pure stuff can wait until I _don't_ have a boner."  
     A grin spread across Jack's face, and he laughed, stepping aside to let Mark bend over the bed. "'M gonna 'ave ta prep yeh firs'," He announced, rummaging in his drawer and pulling out the lube that'd been returned to its spot. "Since 'm _certain_ yeh 'aven't... y'know. 'Ad somethin' _shoved up yer arse_ in a while."  
     Mark whimpered, but didn't object. Lubing his fingers, he kneeled over and prodded one at the entrance. As he'd expected, Mark was tense, though visibly excited. He winced a little in apprehension at the touch. "Ah, wow, that's cold…"  
     "Ye'll get used ta t'at, I promise." Jack's voice was full of as much reassurance as he could muster. "Are yeh ready? T'is s'gonna 'urt, bu' I'll make sure it's not too much, okay?"  
     "I'm ready. I'll be okay." Mark's voice was a little strained as he spoke, his eyes shut tightly. He was anxious, and Jack didn't blame him _at all_. Actually... he had an idea.  
     Slowly, he pushed in the finger, gently shushing Mark as he let out a cry of pain. He started rambling about his first time, hoping it might distract Mark some. " _Jaysis_ , I remember the firs' time _I_ 'ad somethin' inside a'me. It was fockin' _painful_ ," he told Mark, holding his finger still to let the man get used to it. "Like, _really_. Bu' t'en… I got used teh'it, an' I'll _never_ forget 'ow fockin' _great_ it fel'. Like, i's _differen_ ', bu' ye _never_ regre' doin' it after-"  
     Mark was laughing a little, despite the tears in his eyes. "Y-you can move now. Goober…" He sniffled, and Jack smiled to himself.   
     His finger pressed further, and he felt Mark tighten around him a little, and heard him hiss through gritted teeth. "S'like… pain is _normal_. If yeh _don_ ' feel it, ye won' ever be a sex god. Like _me_!" Jack giggled, taking Mark's laughter as a sign that he was distracted and pulled out the finger, adding in another and slowly pushing both of them in. He listened as Mark drew in a sharp breath, but there didn't seem to be any other sign of pain.  
     Jack held his fingers still again before bringing them apart, and Mark let out another noise, though this time it seemed to be more of a mix of pain and pleasure. " _T'ere it is._ " Jack purred encouragingly. "It feels good, doesn' it?"  
     "Yeah," Mark muttered, breathing labored. "Still hurts… j-just a little-"  
     "I know, Merk, I know," Jack cooed, his fingers pushing a little deeper. "Ye're okay. I promise. It'll be wort' it."  
     Another scissoring of his fingers informed him that Mark was no longer in any pain; the man let out a full on groan, hands gripping the sheets of the bed. "Oh _God_ , you weren't kidding…"  
     "No, I wasn'. D'yeh feel stretched? Well… y'know w'at I mean."  
     Mark gasped, scooting himself toward Jack. "If I say yes will you fuck me?" He inquired, voice calculated.  
     "Well, _yeah_..."  
     "Then yes."  
     Jack hesitated, pulling his fingers out and standing up. The loss made Mark whine, and the Irishman laughed. "Yeh _promise_ ye'r ready?" He asked, squirting some more of the lube onto his hand for himself. Mark nodded vigorously, the side of his face pressed into the mattress.   
     He lubed himself up quickly before lining himself up with Mark's hole. "M'kay… an' ye're _sure_ -"  
     "I appreciate you checking in and all, but _please fuck me_ , Sean."  
     Jack grinned, giggling like a little bitch. "'M gonna go slow, an' yeh tell me w'en ta move." He informed him before pushing himself in.  
     Mark spat a few different curses, paired with Jack's given name and some pierced gasps. It was fucking _gorgeous_. He forced himself _not_ to _pound_ into Mark, instead holding still to let him adjust.   
     A couple seconds passed, and Mark gave him a shaken and weak thumbs up. He edged only a little deeper, and Mark clenched around him, moaning again. "Oh f- _fuck_ , Sean… keep going, _ah_ -" He broke off, whining when Jack actually did.  
     "Okay?" Jack asked, his hands gripping Mark's hips.  
     "If you don't go faster I'll _kill you_ , Sean."  
     He couldn't help but snort a little, face splitting into a grin. "Okay, 'm movin'," He warned gently, moving back only to thrust again.   
     It didn't seem like Mark was in much pain anymore; he was muttering Jack's name, gasping in what Jack could only _assume_ was ecstasy. "'Ow a-are yeh… feelin'?" Jack checked in again, moving slowly.   
     "I'm f-feeling… ah, _Sean, fuck_ … like you should _fu-uck me harder_! God, _fuck me_ …"  
     And so Jack obliged, his cock slipping in and out easily and effectively hitting Mark's prostate. He grunted, leaning forward and letting his teeth graze the shell of Mark's ear. "Yeh like t'at, _don'tcha_? Ye like it when I fock yeh 'til all yeh know 'ow ta say is me name…"  
     "Oh, God! I _love it, Sean,_ o-oh my _God_! _Fucking hell, Sean, please_!"  
     Jack just hummed, overwhelmed in all the best ways by his begging. It was fucking _hot_ , and he'd take it _any day_. "Mmmhm. D'yeh want ta cum? Tell me when yeh want teh…"  
     "P-please," he whined, his death grip on the sheets never faltering. "Let me! I want to… fucking _scream_ your name, oh my _God_!"  
     "Go 'head. Cum fer me, Merk. Scream me name. I know yeh wan'ta." He mumbled in his ear, honestly edging himself on as much as he was his lover. It was stupid, but while he was _mostly_ submissive, it was… _nice_ to step out of his comfort zone once and a while. Besides, he loved Mark, and Mark loved him. That did wonders for his mind anyway.   
     Mark _absolutely_ came, and he did so in all of the ways he'd promised Jack that he would, and _God_ , this had been in his fucking dreams a _lot_ recently and it was _way too wonderful_. More so than he'd expected, and those expectations were _damn high_.   
     It took a couple more thrusts for Jack to climax, but Mark didn't seem to mind it at all, riding out his high while Jack hit his own. Needless to say, by the end of it, both of them were exhausted and breathless. All Jack had been able to do was pull out and climb onto the bed, sitting there while he waited for Mark.   
     The man was a mess, but in a fucking _delicious_ way. His hair was _beyond_ disheveled and he was red-faced and sweaty. _Gorgeous_ , in Jack's opinion, and he announced this to Mark as he wiggled under the covers.  
     Mark quickly joined him, rolling his eyes at the compliment. "Whatever, beautiful," He answered, kissing Jack's chaotic hair. "You're amazing." With this, he weaved an arm under the back of Jack's neck.  
     Jack leaned his head against him, smiling to himself. "Don' flatter me, Fischbach…"  
     "Back to last name basis, I see."  
     "Yeah," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Back ta las' name basis."  
     "In that case, get your ass to sleep, _McLoughlin_."  
    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡


End file.
